Entwined
by CaptivateYou
Summary: Galbatorix rules the land, his only threats being the Varden and the Dragon Rider that is soon to appear. Or so he thought. Deep within the depths of his supposed safe haven, a determined slave makes a decision that will change everything.
1. Wryda

The castle was quiet. Like a tomb, only the ghosts of sounds traveled in its stony depths, and the torches lit on the walls flickered, the smiles of ever-present demons. It was nearing dusk, though the occupants had no way of knowing this, as the windows were carefully locked with barred with magic. The stone was worn with age, and if one knelt on the floor and put their face close to it, they would see that the paths leading down the center was slightly depressed.

Hundreds upon hundreds of servants – all unwilling, all weak with hunger and pain – had been dragged down these halls, straining against chains, screaming for one last glimpse of sunlight. Once the entrance doors closed behind them, most servants never stepped outside again, and as long as the rule of Galbatorix continued, most would die quietly and pitifully in their beds of coarse linen. It was sometimes days – weeks – before the bodies were removed, and when they finally were, they were not granted respect or honor in death. No…it was the Ra'zac who came to retrieve the bodies. Sometimes, they were so eager that they began feeding on the molding flesh even before out of earshot of the slave quarters.

A slave stood behind a pillar, her face dimly revealed in the ever-wavering light of the nearest torch. In her hands was a platter of sweet bread rolls, and it was clear from the firm set of her mouth that she had no intention of going to the outer pavilion, where everyone was currently gathered. Even the king himself was there, as he found obvious pleasure in the public torture – and eventual execution – of a traitor. The young man had been caught trying to escape, with several secrets of the Empire written on a tablet so he could give it to outsiders; presumably the rebels that called themselves the Varden.

The slave's age was indefinable, as she was clad in a shapeless dress – she was so slender, it was difficult to determine whether it was purely the cut of the dress that provided the shapelessness or if it was her lack of feminine growth – and her long, reddish-brown hair was pulled in a harsh bun at the base of her neck, making her features appear pained and weathered.

Her eyes were dark and liquid in the firelight, and when they flickered to face the light, within the depths of those eyes shone the fierce, calculating coldness of a caged beast; a beast that has just discovered a way to free itself, and was biding its time…waiting for the opportune moment.

The slave had been waiting for as long as she could remember. She had never been taught to count the days, months, or years – she could barely grasp the concept that time could be measured in such a way – and so the girl had nothing to go on but her own impatience. The girl had been taught when she was still free how to count up to a hundred, and so she could count in that way. But the idea that each sunrise signified a day, that each full moon signified a month…it was too much.

For this opportunity she had waited through many dinners, more than could fit in her brain, more than could fill the span of her thoughts. She had served the king in his quarters, as many times as there were notches on her little wall space near her cot. She had been shorter than the old woman who worked with her in the kitchens then, and now she looked down at the woman, significantly taller.

Why the king saw it pleasant to have her serve him in his quarters was beyond her comprehension, and she instead used it to her advantage. Her familiarity with the king's quarters and the magician who guarded the door all day and night would prove crucial to her plan.

Tonight, she would escape. If she did not succeed, she would be executed.

It was a simple juxtaposing of outcomes, as comparable as the smell of bread baking beautifully and the arid scent of burning flesh. She had smelled both, on multiple occasions, and heartily preferred the former.

Cloaked in shadow save for her face, the slave straightened her shoulders, and an astonishing calm settled over her form. Her eyes became soft and weak, the perfect impersonation of a shy slave who would do anything to please. She held the platter in one hand, and used the fingers of her other to untie her hair. Long, wavy hair spilled down her shoulders, settling in the small of her back. It framed her face innocently, and with a brief closing of her eyes, the young woman – with her hair down, her features became unmistakably youthful – began to walk down the hall, down the familiar path to the king's quarters.

Her stride was purposeful and brisk, but not in a way that would arouse suspicion. No one was around to observe her, in any case, but she dare not drop her façade. Not all eyes needed a warm, living body to observe her. That, along with plenty else, had been proven time and time again in her time in the castle.

An older slave named Elris – when the younger woman had first arrived in the castle, bereft of her parents, she had laid up all night crying, and Elris was the only one with enough compassion to come and comfort her – did not stop to greet the younger woman, but instead reached out to touch her shoulder as she passed.

"Evelyn…" Elris whispered in greeting, and Evelyn flinched at the use of her name. It was her name, yes, but it also reminded her of times better forgotten. With her name came memories of her life back in the village – the name was a hazy glimpse of a dream, it eluded her even in her most coherent moments – and with the memories came the grief. She had been ten years when the village was taken. She had served in the castle ever since, and she had not bothered to keep track of her age since then, because it only led to more grief. If she knew exactly how much time passed, it would only encourage thoughts of lament that so much had been taken from her. She would not lament, she would not weep.

This was not the time.

Evelyn did not acknowledge the woman, but something in her heart softened at the thought of leaving the woman behind. Elris had been a mother to Evelyn, a friend, a confidant. But there were too many secrets to share, too much at risk. Evelyn straightened, and her conscience iced over once more. For the freedom that was so close that Evelyn could almost taste it, she would risk anything and everything.

Guilt welled up at the thought, but Evelyn forcibly pushed it aside. There would be time – in both outcomes – to grieve, but not now. Not when she was so _close_.

Evelyn did not meet any one else in the halls, and for that she was glad, as it gave her ample time to clear her mind and fill it with innocent orders from the kitchen supervisor. She pictured the angry man, with his sickly brown eyes, the stains of sauces and blood on his apron as he hummed and groaned over a pot or a pan. Evelyn pictured him turning to her, and barking in his curt way, telling her that she was being lazy, just standing there. He would turn, and give her the platter. _Bring it to the king's quarters,_ he would say. _These are his favorites, he will appreciate them. _

Evelyn kept thinking it, and when she spotted the magician standing stoically outside the quarters she removed the look of concentration on her face and replaced it with a placid, innocent one. Her shoulders hunched a bit, unconsciously, trying to sink lower into the role of a submissive slave, and her lips pouted as she glanced at her feet.

The magician was a tall, lanky man, with eerie violet eyes and a cruel cast to his face. His head was covered in thick, black hair, and the hair bounced around his shoulders as he turned to face her. A look of recognition crossed his brow, and he relaxed, taking his hand off of his sword. Evelyn did not relax – a slave never relaxed, not when they could be beaten at any moment, and for the slightest infraction – and kept her head down as she stopped before him.

The thick, jagged dagger – sharpened against the whetting stone in stolen moments, when the cook left to retrieve an ingredient from the storeroom – was blazingly hot against the skin of her arm, and she hoped that its heat was not potent enough to be felt through the fabric of her sleeve.

The magician nodded at her, a rare motion, and she bowed low to the ground, speaking in soft tones.

"Harcan has baked these for the king, he ordered that I place them in his chamber. May I do so, sir?" she asked, and did not dare look up to meet his eyes, letting her hair fall so that it swathed the area around her down-turned. The magician peered at the rolls, and she felt a small surge of magic – she had felt the magic many times, especially when the lesser spell-casters wanted to have a bit of fun, and decided to control slaves (including Evelyn, thankfully only one time) as though they were living puppets. The man appeared to find nothing amiss, and hesitated before nodding once more, turning to mutter some words in the Ancient Language.

Evelyn listened, and was pleased to find that she understood the phrase perfectly.

"_Door, open._"

The large wooden doors creaked open, and Evelyn walked inside, the man close behind her.

Being manipulated by magic, it seemed, aroused a peculiar obsession within Evelyn. From that first time – she had been tortured for accidentally dropping a bowl of soup – she noticed that the spell-caster used some strange words for the spell. Later on, she noticed some of the magicians studying in the large library, and when they left, she (with the excuse of cleaning) snatched up several of the scrolls and hid them away. Evelyn knew how to read – rare, among slaves – and so the real trick was make sense of this strange, flowery script that made all sorts of strange angles and had numerous symbols and dots. Luckily, the scroll had a key on pronunciation, and so Evelyn learned to read and speak the Ancient Language. Granted, the scroll was incredibly lengthy and full of depth, but it only brushed upon the subjects of an ancient and unnamed battle that had occurred along the Ramr River a long time ago. Not anything about spells or magic.

But Evelyn was content with the fact that she could understand and speak the language adequately, so that she would know what was going to happen when the surge of magic occurred.

The room was familiar to Evelyn, and so her eyes only gazed at the lushness of the interior out of habit more than real curiosity. A dominant color was red, which wasn't surprising, seeing as Galbatorix seemed to have a deep pleasure in creating bloodshed. To the far west of the room was the door to his sleeping chambers, in which – thankfully – Evelyn had never been. A table pilled high with maps and notes rested in the center of the room, and beside that table was an enormous cushion that was the resting place of his onyx-scaled dragon. The dragon terrified Evelyn, but what terrified her more were its eyes, which were filled with wicked intelligence and a lust for pain.

The magician hovered as she slowly lowered the platter onto the small table beside the maps, and with head bowed she spotted a thick metal spike that served as a paperweight. Her hair continued to hide her face, and she glanced back to see that the magician was staring in the opposite direction, apparently having heard some noise.

She grasped the weight, and with a silent prayer quickly smashed it against the man's head. He fell with a gasp, and lay limp, his face pressed into the carpet. Evelyn stood, breathing hard, her hair in an array, and her eyes wide.

But she knew that he wasn't dead. She could see his chest rising and falling faintly, and felt a sick feeling of dread rise up into her throat, choking her. Part of her wanted to get what she was looking for and flee, but the more reasonable side stopped her in her tracks.

If she left him alive, the king would find out who had escaped, and would surely hunt her down. Even if she was just a slave, she was still his property, and he hated traitors more than anything.

And so the only option left was to kill him. Evelyn wasn't the only slave to bring Galbatorix his meals, there was no reason to remember her face. His dragon would recognize the scent, no doubt, but the name? There were too many girls in the castle, too many for her to stand out. She knew this, and steeled herself.

Evelyn swallowed, her eyes flickering from the door to the unconscious magician on the floor. The slave knew that killing was wrong, but she had done many wrong things in order to escape. She had done terrible, terrible things…what was one more act of evil in the face of freedom?

Fingers gripped the handle of the knife, and with a gust of air she lunged, plunging the knife into the back of the magician's head. Bone crunched and flesh rebelled against the intruding weapon, and once it was lodged in his head Evelyn rolled away as if she was burned. The blood was pooling around his head, and she felt some of it soak into her dress. She gasped, and backed away, her mouth wide as she stared at the man.

Then, she came to herself.

The key was in plain sight, on the top of a shelf near a curtained depression in the wall. It was Galbatorix's idea of a joke, watching as slaves came into the room, only to see their ticket to freedom, just sitting there with no protection. Some had tried lunging for it, but the dragon was quicker. Evelyn had a theory that the carpet was red just to Galbatorix could hide the blood. Or have it out in plain sight, taunting anyone who dared rebel against him.

_You could be next_, the crimson stain of the carpet seemed to hiss.

Evelyn crept toward the key, and reached for it, alert to any magic that might surround it. But it seemed that Galbatorix had become lazy, thinking that his quarters were his sanctuary, the place that was so safe that it needn't be guarded. No one was foolish enough to come in here and steal; no one was ready to die.

That was what separated Evelyn from the rest. For so long she had been waiting for her chance, so long that all attachments to her own life had withered. If she was destined to escape, than it would be so. If not, Evelyn would accept her fate with dignity, with no regrets, no fears.

The small form of the key was icy in her clammy grasp, and she frantically lifted up her skirts, revealing a small metal band that surrounded her ankle. It was magically affected to inflict death if the slave went outside the outer castle walls, and it was such a constant omen of slavery that Evelyn nearly cried when the key clicked, and the band fell away.

Free. She was free. At last…

She placed the key back on the shelf, and was about to leave when she noticed a strange pulsing beneath her, behind the curtain of cloth. It was glowing, and Evelyn fell to her knees before it, her heart pounding in the face of the magic that was brewing through the floor, through her mind, her toes, and her soul.

Evelyn felt her hands push aside the curtain, and she gasped at what lay before her.

Resting gently in the warm yellow sand were two eggs. Smooth, beautiful, innocent eggs that were at least twice the size of a newborn infant. Evelyn didn't have to guess twice as to what they held. The closest egg – it shone a pure, vibrant green – was only inches away from her trembling fingers, and with a soft cry she touched it with her fingertips, ignoring the warning her mind screamed at her.

Before she could full comprehend what she was doing, she lifted the egg, and held it close to her chest. It seemed to fit there, warm and deliciously heavy, and she crooned under her breath, pressing her cheek to its smooth surface.

An ear-splitting roar filled the air, and Evelyn jumped up, egg still in hand, and bolted out the door, tucking the egg down her dress and covering it with her cloak – it was cold in the castle, so it was customary for slaves to have ragged cloaks they made out of the blankets of the deceased. Evelyn didn't stop to wonder if the dragon was roaring in pleasure at the torture or in fury that an egg – one of the last dragon eggs in existence – had been stolen.

Evelyn ran, heart pounding, arms curled protectively around the egg. Her legs pumped furiously, and her brain was wonderfully bereft of fear. She didn't have time to question her sanity. If she lived to see the next sunrise, she would devote several hours to that very task. She reached her escape route – a small tunnel servants used to reach the stables – heard the king's dragon roar again, but this time it was softer, more pleased. A powerful rush of joy pounded through her chest as she realized that she hadn't been found out. How this was possible, how Galbatorix had seemingly _forgotten _to place spells and shields over the eggs…was Galbatorix really that powerful? Was he so completely confident that his walls and his solders and magicians and dragon could protect his most prized weapons in the battle against the rebels?

The young woman ducked into the tunnel, closing the door securely behind her and locking it for good measure. The passageway was dark, but Evelyn had practiced running so many times that her feet instinctively knew the way. She had planned for this, she was ready, she was going to make it.

The darkness was fading; the smell of dark, musty shadows was melting away into the sweet scent of nighttime and straw. The slave, who had traveled this route so many times, was crying now, her eyes gazing at the block of blue that was the night sky with such longing, such desperate desire.

Evelyn had nearly forgotten what being free felt like.

The slave – the _former _slave – reached the dark stables, and for a moment, all she could do was stare at the stars. They were so much brighter now, so much warmer and sweeter and oh the smell of the freedom on her tongue! It was intoxicating, and she lifted a single hand to the sky as if to grasp the moon and hug it to her breast. The other hand was carefully cradling the egg, as tenderly as if it were a child in her womb. In the dark, creating a maternal bulge in her dress, one would be inclined to believe that Evelyn _was _holding the unborn form of her child as she stood there.

The horses were unknowingly standing, snorting and snuffing, unaware of the tears that wet the skin of the human's neck as she silently sobbed. Her hair was swept back from her face, falling to below her buttocks as she tilted her head back, gulping in the sweetness of the night sky that she had never really seen until this very moment.

It was a few more timeless moments later that the woman seemed to come to herself, and she was Evelyn once more.

The woman seemed to realize that she still had the egg, and quickly pulled it out her dress, staring down at it. There was no question that she was taking it with her, such a warm feeling had welled through her at the contact, and even if it wouldn't hatch for her, the Varden might find some use for it.

Evelyn hastened to mount a horse, hiding the egg in a saddle-pack, and galloped out of the castle, her hair streaming behind her and her eyes burning pieces of amber in the starlight. Later, hours later, the king would discover what had been stolen, and such a rage would never be seen again on the face of Alagaësia. But by the time that happened, Evelyn was miles and miles away, with no way to possibly track her – she discarded her dress, having packed the dress and gloves of a recently killed servant away so that her scent would be disrupted.

And so as she fled Urû'baen, she couldn't help but ask the question that burned ceaselessly at the forefront of her thoughts.

_Would the egg hatch for someone like me? _

She had killed a man knowingly; she had sent a poor young man to his death just so that she would have the opportunity to escape. She had stolen, she had lied, and she was suicidal enough to steal a dragon egg from King Galbatorix himself.

_Could it? _


	2. Vrangr

Evelyn's eyes lifted, her body aching and weary as she blearily blinked upward at the brilliant afternoon sky. Her steed huffed and coughed beneath her, and the coarse sounds reminded her of her own lack of water and food. It had been at least six sunrises since her escape from the castle, and her clean water had run out two sunrises ago. Her food had run out long before that. Trembling wracked her frame, and her lips were bleeding and cracked, resulting in dim pangs of pain shooting up her mouth with every movement of her face.

The young woman let out a groan, and her upper body hunched over the thick neck of the horse, her face pressing against the pungent, sweat-streaked fur. Whether the sweat was from the beast or from Evelyn herself, the woman couldn't be sure. Her mind was slowly fading into a haze, the sun's rays becoming harsher and more relentlessly as the day wore on.

Evelyn, in all her life, had never felt so weak. Even in the moments after being tortured, even in the span of time that she stood before the king's dragon as the Rider ate his meal, trembling in the face of those cruel teeth, as large as her arm, from elbow to the tips of her fingers. The weakness in those moments wasn't as taxing as the weakness that consumed her at this moment, and the muscles of her legs and abdomen twitched painfully. When the convulsions ceased, she was nearly unconscious.

Evelyn hadn't expected to go so long without seeing a village. But there lay the flaw in her great plan; she had never been outside the castle – save for her time as a child, and at that time she had only known the area around her own small village – and therefore couldn't possibly know where any nearby towns lay. She had glimpsed some maps in the castle, but most were labeled and explained in the human language. Evelyn was only able to read and write in the Ancient Language, and so such maps were utterly useless.

The ground beneath them was slowly melding to grass and soft dirt, but the former slave was too feeble to notice the eagerness to her steed's gait. The horse was trotting now, causing her head to bob up and down, spotting her vision with dots of gray. The wind was somewhat soothing against her clammy skin, and she found a vestige of strength, enough to shakily raise her face to the sky, closing her eyes to enjoy the breeze.

Splashing filled the air, and her body slid sideways as the horse came to an abrupt half, and suddenly she was falling. Instead of hitting the dry ground, as she was expecting, blessed wetness enveloped her. A gasp escaped her aching chest as she instinctively flinched away from the cool liquid, the contact relieving her foggy haze. But then, she realized what she was sitting in, and immediately flipped so she was face down, sucking in large mouthfuls of the water.

_Water! _Heaven seemed to be singing inside of her skin, and the cool liquid comforted her in its endless supply. In brief moments when she lifted her head, Evelyn saw the shimmering surface of a large oval-shaped body of freshwater. Trees ringed the shore across from her, and for a split second, she thought she saw something shining from within the forest's depths. But it disappeared when she blinked, and her mind sank down into the greedy need for water once more.

Thoughts of whether the water was drinkable were rudely brushed aside; all that mattered was sating her ravenous thirst. Evelyn's dry, hopelessly burnt skin – the girl had not seen the sun in many years, her skin was pale and sensitive – seemed to sigh in pleasure as the cool liquid soothed the stinging. After a while, she pulled her mouth and hands away from the water, and sank back into it, letting her hair dip down until only her face was above the water.

Evelyn's ears were muted, and she reveled in the watery echo that seemed to surround everything. Never had she been in such a large amount of _fresh _water – the twice-weekly baths the well-mannered slaves received consisted of a small tub of less than pristine, scalding hot water, with a rag and a bar of cream-white soap – and it amazed her to no end. The sky was such a pale blue, and her eyes absorbed the color greedily. After a few seconds of deliberation, Evelyn decided that she much preferred the rich blue color of twilight to the washed out imitation that the sky was at present.

Her eyes closed, hearing the muted splashing and guzzling of the exhausted horse that had carried her so far. She wanted to sit up and pat the creature in thanks, but the water was so soft and welcoming…she just wanted to sink down and let it consume her.

It was then that a human voice jolted Evelyn out of her peaceful state of near-unconsciousness, and she was so shocked that her legs slipped from under her. The movement caused her head to slip under the surface, effectively muffling her scream of terror.

~x~X~x~

_Evelyn was watching little hands as they drew shapes on the small block of paper, the charcoal pencil hopelessly staining the tiny fingers. The girl was lying on her stomach, stretched out on a brightly colored rug, her feet bare and clean, crossed idly at the ankles. Evelyn was in the same position, and she noted that the two of them were wearing identical, backless dresses of deep crimson. The material was strange against the former slave's skin, and if Evelyn were able to, she would have rubbed it between her calloused fingers. Evelyn's head – she was forced to follow the actions of the little girl as if they were her own – jerked upward at the sound of a gentle voice at the door. _

"_Little bird, its time..." _

_The voice roused the child from her game, and reddish-brown braids bounced as the girl turned to stare at her mother with pouting lips. It was as if Evelyn was not present, instead a mere shadow that was forced to follow the girl wherever she went. The girl's eyes were, at first glance, a nondescript shade of hazel, but when the girl stood to reluctantly walk over to the door, Evelyn saw that the eyes were instead a startling shade of amber, with flecks of gold surrounding the pupil. _

_The world around Evelyn was soft and shimmering, as if an ethereal light shone on her surroundings. The girl looked up at the woman standing at the brightly lit doorway to the small hut, and Evelyn was forced to look at the woman as well. But the light obscured her face, and the former slave let out a cry of indignation, something deep within her heart – something raw and exposed – lamenting at the inability to see this particular woman._

"_Time for what, Mama?" the girl asked, her voice high and sweet, slightly darkened with confusion. The woman smiled sadly – Evelyn did not know how she was able to tell, seeing as the woman's face was indistinguishable – and reached down with a slender hand; the girl took it without hesitation. The two began moving toward the block of pearly light that was the outside, and Evelyn found that she could not follow. Her feet refused to move, and she saw that something was appearing on the girl's back. _

_A dark red tattoo of outstretched wings – striking in its simplicity – was inked across her shoulder blades. It was beautiful, and then there was a stinging on Evelyn's back, the hiss of magic, and the girl was sucked into the ground beneath her, sinking lower and lower. Pulling her, tugging her, choking her–_

"That's right…open your eyes…" a gentle, obviously male voice murmured. Evelyn felt a racking shudder vibrate through her chest, and coughed violently, spitting up mouthfuls of brackish water. The coughing brought her to full awareness, and she blinked stupidly up at the person who had saved her. Before she could get a good look at his face, he turned her over and began briskly patting her back. This encouraged more of the lodged water to spill forth from her lips, and tears streamed down her cheeks as she heaved and heaved. Finally, her breathing became normal, and she felt large hands pulling her back so that she was resting on her back once more.

Dizziness and nausea pulsed through her body, and she felt a hand support her neck, spilling some clean water into her mouth. She tried to guzzle, but before she could, the water was pulled away. The man spoke, but the sounds were drifting away, so she just closed her eyes and let the dizziness sweep her under once more. It was oddly peaceful, to be so detached from her body. Dimly, though a curtain of blackness, she registered that she was being carried, and the clopping of hooves reached her ears. Her horse…the egg! He was going to…she had to wake up…stop him…

Time was skewed in her delirious state, and so it seemed like a mere moment later that she was being placed on something luxuriously soft, like silk to her peeling skin. Her eyes fluttered, but her body rebelled, and she sank into the darkness again. Sounds and smells were blurry, as if she was experiencing them through a thick fog, and her mind reveled in the lack of thought that went through her. There was no pain, instead a blissful softness.

Several times in her haze, Evelyn's body would register vivid sensations: someone placing a cold washcloth to her forehead, a warm mash being spooned into her mouth, the sounds of two voices speaking to each other…birds chirping…

The worst was when something warm and strangely scaly came into contact with her hand, and there was a brief moment of excruciating agony, so intense that it nearly broke through her haze of semi-consciousness. A scream had pierced through her, and the voices returned, higher in tones of anxiety. There was silence as the pain receded, and them one of the voices yelled. But Evelyn was already sinking back under, her mind numbly noticing that there was something foreign brushing against her thoughts, as if asking for entry. Evelyn, too far gone to comprehend what it was, ignored it, and after a moment it seemed to understand, and withdrew. A warm weight settled on her thighs, comforting in a way.

The softness was heavenly, and Evelyn was just beginning to dream–

A small ladle was placed to her lips, and the impossibly bitter taste that poured into her mouth was enough to make her eyes snap open. She coughed and sputtered, but managed to choke it down. The change in her was immediate; her vision cleared, and energy seemed to come back into her form.

Evelyn blinked, sitting up as quickly as she could. Her eyes snapped to the man that was sitting beside her – a quick glance told her that she was currently resting in an ornately carved bed. The man was nearing old age, his hair predominantly white, with streaks of its original dark blonde color. Evelyn noticed that the man's eyes were soft and patient, and it made her even more wary. She had never experienced kindness from strangers, and so she reacted with the only thing she knew: suspicion.

The old man smiled, his pale gray eyes crinkling good-naturedly as he leaned forward, his weathered hand reaching forward slightly. Evelyn's mind rebelled against it, and suddenly, a glittering green shape leapt up from its position on her lap – she hadn't noticed it when she first awoke, too focused on the man sitting not two feet from her – and a high-pitched squeak filled the air as little white fangs snapped dangerously close to the man's wrist.

Evelyn didn't want to look down, her eyes closing in an effort to deny the undeniable.

Her questioning of whether the egg would hatch for her…it had been a moment of weakness. A moment in which she foolishly imagined that perhaps an ordinary girl such as herself was destined for greatness. Evelyn had desperately hoped that her life in the king's castle wasn't just a result of chance, of cruel coincidence. Instead, she childishly yearned for the day that she would be chosen to make an impact on the world.

In truth, Evelyn wasn't cut out for greatness. Surely, destiny had taken a glance at the life of Evelyn, and immediately deemed her too tainted for such a heavy burden. A Dragon Rider was a figure of power, of peace, of wisdom. In this time and age, a Rider would have two choices; join the Varden and be hunted by the most powerful magician of Alagaësia, or join Galbatorix and perform impossibly evil acts, an eternal servant to a mad king.

And yet, defying common sense and any semblance of wisdom, this dragon had chosen her. Evelyn, still not opening her eyes, felt the slight uplifting of her lips. Perhaps the dragon was well matched to her after all; it seemed to be as illogical as Evelyn was.

There it was again, the faint pressure Evelyn now labeled as the dragon trying to communicate with her. If she had been a normal human girl raised in a normal family in a normal town or city – Evelyn's heart ached; she would have done anything to be normal – she most likely would have thought that dragons were nothing but animals, beasts that had been tamed to suit the Riders' uses. That was what was whispered in the slave quarters, and since the slaves were mostly farmers and city-folk kidnapped from their homes; Evelyn assumed this was an opinion that was commonly shared throughout the Empire. It was an opinion that Evelyn too had held, but that had changed relatively quickly.

After spending many a night standing in Galbatorix's rooms, waiting until the king finished his meal, she had noticed something rather odd about the onyx dragon. It had been when her eyes had been level with those of Elris, when her body had just begun its change into womanhood.

~x~X~x~

The dragon – Evelyn did not dare even think the name, much less speak it – had lay quietly, curled up on the cushion opposite her, and she spent a majority of the leisurely meal stealing glances at the beast. The dragon was immense, with piercing eyes that were so dark that Evelyn did not allow herself to do more than glance at them, for fear that she would be sucked into their pitiless depths. The dragon sat silently, staring at her, and Evelyn suddenly found herself looking into those eyes, her own eyes wide and frightened.

Instead of growling at her, as the dragon usually did, the creature instead laid its head down on the ground, its eyes holding a strange softness to them as they pierced through her defenses. They were not the eyes of a mindless beast, a horrible creature of the night. Of that Evelyn was certain, and it frightened her in a way.

Evelyn made to look away, but there was a sudden stabbing in her brain, and—

_The sky above Illirea was a pure crystalline blue, and outlines of bonded dragons flew far above the cliffs, appearing to be mere specks to those traversing up the rocky path. A human female – barely past puberty – clambered over boulders, her short hair tied into many tight braids, and the young onyx dragon was filled with love at the sight of Reyna – his Rider, his partner-of-mind-body-and-soul. She felt his love through their bond, and turned to smile at him, her mind touching his happily. _

Come on! Master Síeri said that fireweed grows up near the top, we should get some; Master said that he was running low…

_The dragon's thoughts soured at the thought of chewing the mushy stems, and sent her an brief memory of how unpleasant it felt on his tongue, and how long it took to pick out of his teeth. Reyna rolled her tree-bark-brown-eyes in exasperation, but leaned down to rub the dragon's muzzle all the same. _

I'm sorry it isn't pleasant, but your breath really has been awful lately. To make up for it, when you go to afternoon flying lessons, I'll sneak you some faelnirv from Master Síeri's basement. She keeps it behind the scrolls of summoning; I'll just ask her if I can borrow some of her scrolls. You have to promise not to drink too much of it though…you remember what happened _last _time!

_Both cringed at the memory of an outrageously intoxicated dragon – and indirectly, an intoxicated Rider, seeing as the dragon was unable to keep up the usual separation while under the influence of the elvish beverage – nearly tearing apart their entire room. It had been nothing short of a miracle that none of the neighboring apprentices and their dragons remained asleep through the night. _

I'll be more careful, this time, _the dragon promised, and Reyna nodded before turning to continue her ascent. The muscles in her arms strained to lift herself up onto the next ledge, and the male dragon snorted before using his snout to give the girl some leverage. Reyna sent him a grateful thought, and then her mind spiked in shock, and then in wariness. _

_The dragon's senses perked, and he saw – by channeling his mind through his Rider's – that a tall, dark haired man was standing there. He was holding a lethal sword, and on his face was the strangest look of contentment. His eyes were staring at Reyna, who was unfamiliar with this man, and the dragon heard his Reyna speaking, her tone cautious. _

"_Hello, fellow Rider…do you require something?" _

_The man smirked, and Reyna's eyes widened as he lifted his sword to press against her chest. The girl had no weapons, nothing but the weak magic that she was just beginning to learn, and her mouth opened to scream. The onyx dragon roared in desperation, and began to scramble up the side of the cliff, feeling her fear, he needed to _protect her_! _

_But with a harsh and cruel stab...the sword pierced Reyna's heart. The young dragon roared and roared, his own mind shattering as he felt his partner's panic and agony. He finally reached the top, and leapt to her side, pushing all of his power into her slender frame, his mind pulsing with misery as he felt her slipping away from. He roared and roared, but suddenly a dark and fierce magic clutched at him, making him unable to move. The dragon watched in horror as the wound – the wound that the untamed dragon-magic had begun to heal – reopened, and the tentative string that was Reyna's life force was slipping even more hurriedly now. No, he could save her, he could!_

_Her eyes stared up at him, and her mouth parted, red-rust-tang spilling forth in thick rivulets. No, no, no—_

I love you, _Reyna whispered, and said a name. The name struck the dragon's chords so deeply, so strongly, and he knew that she had just given him his name. It was unusual for the Rider to give a dragon its name, but it was not unheard of. The dragon clung to the name, and poured all of his love, all of his loyalty, all of his life…into the mind of Reyna. Her eyes closed, and his child-fragile-human-partner slipped away from him, into the void that was death. _

_The dragon was alone. _

_REYNA!_

Evelyn was screaming, her knees hitting the ground, tears streaming down her cheeks as she experienced the pain and the loss. Galbatorix did not look up from his meal, instead scolding the dragon coldly.

"What have I said about torturing the slaves?" the king asked, and the dragon tilted his head as he stared at his master. Galbatorix seemed to be thinking very hard, and after a moment his face smoothed out and he laughed, a cruel and chilling laugh. "Ah, a drowning scenario? How cruel of you. It really is a pity we no longer use drowning as a punishment. Perhaps in a century or so…"

~x~X~x~

Evelyn was pulled back to the present as the pressure became more indignant, and with a sigh she opened her eyes, looking down at the dragon currently perched on her legs.

It was a vivid emerald in color, its scales catching the light streaming in from the window and shimmering in the most beautiful way. The scales of its underbelly were a paler shade; more of a smooth, cream-bottle-green compared to the rich gemstone-like scales on its back. The head of the dragon was roughly triangular, and had a unique pair of horns – instead of curving downward, like Galbatorix's dragon, the green dragon's horns were more straight, having only a slight curve upward at the tips. Translucent, leathery wings fluttered nervously under her scrutiny, and she smiled, raising a hand to tuck a lock of hair behind her ear. Upon doing so, a silvery mark caught her attention, and she lowered her right hand, only to see that upon the palm was a small oval patch of skin, glimmering a bright silver color and oddly smooth to the touch. She had never seen such a mark on the king…was this normal?

The dragon chirped at her, seeming proud of itself that it had warded off the potential enemy – also known as the old man seated beside the bed. Evelyn continued to smile at the creature, unable to be wary in the face of such innocent happiness exuding from the dragon. It was extremely pleased that she was awake, that much was clear from the adoring pulse to the dragon's examination of her figure.

Evelyn looked up to the man, and found that he was smiling.

"The dragon hatched in your bag a few days ago, it took a bit of time for it to find you, as it was on the other side of the house. Nearly gave Murtagh a heart attack, it did. Walked in on him when he was in the bath," the man said, chuckling at the memory. He saw the distrust in Evelyn's gaze, and held up his hands. "There's nothing to fear, young one, I know where you come from, and mean you no harm."

Evelyn frowned at the calm, honest aura of this man, and her brow furrowed. "You…know?" she asked warily, and the man nodded solemnly, and leaned forward, pausing with a smile.

"Now, may I remove the washcloth from your face? Or can you do it yourself?" he asked, and Evelyn nodded, reaching up with slightly shaky hands to peel the wet cloth off of her forehead. It was warm, and she grimaced at how much sweat had been absorbed into the previously clean fabric. The young woman was glad to hand it to the man, who took it without flinching.

"Yes, I've given shelter in the past to fugitives of Urû'baen…though I usually get no more than one every decade or so. And yet, it was only a few weeks ago that Murtagh came here, and now you. And now, a Dragon Rider, of all things," he muttered, standing and moving to place the cloth into a small bowl of steaming water – the bowl was resting on a table across the room.

Evelyn took a moment to look around the room, noticing that there was a variety of herbs and flowers tied to the walls and messily arranged. But from the way that the man moved around, preparing something in a small pot, Evelyn knew that there was not one thing that didn't have a definite place. The smell of medicinal herbs was soothing, and she allowed herself to relax somewhat.

"Where is this, exactly?" Evelyn asked, her voice still a little hoarse from disuse. The man came back with a cup of something hot, and handed it to her. Evelyn apprehensively sniffed the steaming liquid, and the old man chuckled good-naturedly.

"It's just mint tea, my dear. You are safe here, that I swear by everything I hold dear."

Evelyn stared at the man, and slowly took a sip of the drink, surprised at the sharply sweet flavor, and her eyes widened as she took a large sip, enjoying the way it made her mouth feel cool and fresh. The old man smiled at her obvious pleasure, and returned to his seat by the bed.

"My name is Cannel, and when I was fifteen years of age, it was decided that I be apprenticed to a high-standing scholar, who was to go and work for King Galbatorix as his scribe. Being one of the few who did not approve of the king's ideologies, I refused, and when my parents would not listen, I had no choice but to run away. You see, I had always been drawn to the art of healing, and had already been training under the most skilled healer in Melian; the town in which I was born and raised. And so, I ran to the east, hoping to come across a place where I could live in peace. I settled in Furnost – the city that lies west of here – for a time, but was constantly coming here, to the Silverwood Forest. And so I decided to live here, where I could be close to the source of my medicinal herbs. I travel to Furnost once every month or so, to sell my medicines and purchase supplies."

The practiced, even way of explaining his past made it apparent that Cannel had told the story many times before.

Evelyn was sitting, numb with shock, and her eyes flickered down to the dragon in her lap. She never knew…she never even imagined that there were other towns outside of the castle; she didn't even know the name of her own village. The enormity of the world outside of Urû'baen consumed her, and so she sat, silent, trying to absorb the information offered to her. Cannel seemed to sense her need for solitude, and stood, bowing his head to her briefly.

"I will leave you now. You may stay here as long as you like; the Silverwood forest is said to be haunted by many, and not even Galbatorix's armies dare enter it. You and your dragon are safe here, please remember that."

And with that, Cannel strode from the room, and Evelyn was left staring at her hands. A small, raspy tongue lapped at the skin of her forearm, and Evelyn looked up at the baby dragon, which was peering at her with intelligent, curious eyes the color of polished emeralds, the pupils vertical and slanted like those of a feline.

Evelyn reached out, and the dragon squeaked in contentment, waddling over to cuddle against her chest, humming as Evelyn hesitated. Then, she gave in to her sorrow and confusion, and held the dragon close to her, feeling its steady breathing and healthy heartbeat.

What was she to do? She couldn't be free, not with a dragon as her companion. How long would it take for the Empire to find her, or the Varden? No longer was it possible to run away to a far away town, and settle down there. No longer present was the idea that once she escaped Galbatorix's castle, everything in her life would be perfect. The option of freedom was gone, torn away from her as quickly and as suddenly as her mother had been torn from her, that fateful day.

The young woman could only remember two occasions in which she had cried –her life before slavery was muddled and fuzzy, full of terrible longing. The first time had occurred during her first night in the castle, and, looking back on the moment, Evelyn could say with assurance that losing her entire village gave her liable reason to cry. The second time had been only a few weeks ago, when she had finally succeeded in escaping her miserable existence as a slave. Freedom after so many years of oppression seemed a very reasonable occasion in which to cry.

Now, as Evelyn felt herself once again being placed into servitude – the absence of physical chains and thick walls the only difference between her past and present situation – she found that the tears simply wouldn't come forth.

She would either be a tool for the Varden, or she would be a slave for Galbatorix. Either way, she was going to have to fight for her freedom, or fight those wanting freedom.

It seemed that freedom would always tempt Evelyn, smiling at her, cackling when she flung herself at the metal bars keeping her motionless, hands curving into claws as they stretched toward the bright light. It would tease her, brushing just close enough for her to taste it, and then flit away again…just out of reach.

The dragon flinched as it sensed the resentment in Evelyn's thoughts, and of confusion and guilt rocked between them. The dragon thought that it was at fault; it was trying to take the blame. Evelyn had a brief desire to affirm the dragon's assumption, but with a sigh, she shook her head.

"It's not your fault, little one," she murmured, and the dragon perked up at the sound of her voice. Evelyn leaned her cheek against the dragon's head, sighing as she stroked the spot in between its wings.

"No one is at fault."

And then, without any warning, the tears came.


	3. Kvetha

Two sunrises later, Cannel declared that Evelyn was healthy enough to leave the soft feather bed, and Evelyn was eager to do so, practically falling out of the covers in her haste to leave the stuffy warmth and enter the comfortable coolness of the healing room. Cannel laughed at her eagerness, and Evelyn was surprised at how musical the laugh sounded. The man laughed often, but every now and then Evelyn would sense a more melodious undertone, and it put her on edge.

Evelyn had quickly discovered that Cannel could use magic, and at a very high level. Evelyn held enough tentative trust in this man, and so she did not feel too disturbed or wary. The magic Cannel used was used dominantly for the healing arts, but Evelyn could sense that he was an extraordinarily skilled spell-caster. In the castle, she had gradually learned to sense the level of power within a magician; it warned her of which magicians to be especially cautious around, so that they would not feel inclined to punish. Evelyn was never quite positive what the magicians found worthy of punishment; it could be for something as trivial as forgetting to placing a goblet exactly a hands breadth away from their plates, or it could be for something more serious like behaving in a manner that was less than complete acquiescence.

_Evelyn stared at the scene before her, her small, grubby hands – it was only her first day at the castle – holding a dripping rag. A magician, his name beyond Evelyn's knowledge, stood imperiously over a shivering young man. The dining hall was deathly still save for the clinking of cutlery against china plates – the other magicians couldn't be bothered to pause in their meal, looking at the exchange with a kind of boredom, as if such an event was commonplace. _

_"Tell me, what is wrong with this meal," the magician hissed, and the young man jumped as if the man had struck him. Evelyn was on the ground alongside several other slaves, scrubbing at the dark stone floor with rags, buckets of water alongside them. But their hurried, careful washing was put on hold. All attention was on the magician, and Evelyn wondered why everyone looked so frightened. _

_"I…I am not sure, Master." _

_The boy's voice was pitiful and full of terror, and Evelyn frowned at the smile that crossed the man's face. At the time, she hadn't been able to put a word in accordance to the emotion that rose in her at the sight, and it was much later that she labeled it as horror. Horror that such a terrible smile should ever grace the features of any human being. _

_"Oh, that's _not_ the answer I was looking for…" _

_And with a few whispered words, the slave was screaming. The sound was so sudden and inexplicable to Evelyn that she let out a small whimper of surprise, her shoulders hunching in fear. Why was the man hurting the slave? The slave hadn't done anything wrong! _

_"Stop!" Evelyn screamed, her young mind ignorant of her mistake, her eyes locked on the young slave who was beginning to foam at the mouth, his eyes rolling and twitching uselessly in their sockets. Evelyn got to her feet, not aware of the warning looks the other slaves sent her. All she was aware of was that what was happening was wrong. _

_The magician ceased his ministrations, and turned his attention to the shaking little girl. Evelyn swallowed hard, suddenly not so sure of herself, feeling the waves of painful magic rolling off of the magician. The young man was immediately dragged away by several silent slaves, his moans echoing plaintively in the hallway before the door shut behind them, effectively muting the sound. The firelight glinted on the face of the tall, blonde magician, and Evelyn instinctively took a step back. _

_The man did not speak, and Evelyn caught a glimpse of the sympathetic looks given by the surrounding slaves, and then the man's whisper filled the silence. They were in a strange, lilting language. If the man's voice hadn't been so rough and cruel, the words might have been perceived as beautiful. _

_Flowing energy filled Evelyn's frame, pulling her body and mind into the spell. There was no escape, no hope, and the girl only had a split second to wonder what was happening to her. _

_Then, her skin began to slowly heat up, though when the slave looked, she found that her skin looked exactly the same as before. The heat was rising, and then she was on fire. The licking flames inside of her skin burned and cackled, burning hotter and hotter until her mind was consumed by the sheer level of pain. _

_Evelyn was scrambling on the ground, searching for relief, screaming and screaming and _screaming_–_

Evelyn shuddered, and Cannel smiled reassuringly in her direction, not moving any closer to her. Evelyn was glad that the man did not attempt to use physical comfort. After spending most of her life being tortured and mocked for sport, physical closeness was something Evelyn instinctively avoided. The former slave frowned, remembering that the other member of the household had also come from Urû'baen. Had he been a slave as well?

The other man present in the house – the hermit had mentioned the name "Murtagh" several times, so Evelyn assumed that that was the resident's name – had managed to remain out of sight for the duration of Evelyn's recovery. Now that she gave the realization some thought, the young woman wondered if he was actively avoiding her. Being from Urû'baen, he might be emotionally affected by the appearance of a dragon; Galbatorix's dragon was known for devouring servants who displeased its master, and in public, no less.

_I _should _be affected by the presence of a dragon, but I suppose the bond prevents me from being afraid of this particular dragon,_ Evelyn pondered. Then, she shook her head, refusing to think about it anymore. Dirt-encrusted fingers reached up to touch her hair, a grimace crossing her lips as she came into contact with the impossibly tangled and stiff knots. Evelyn had never been vain – the only mirror in the castle was in Galbatorix's chambers, and it was always too far away from the door for Evelyn to catch a glimpse of her own reflection – but in feeling the mess that was her hair, she couldn't help but groan.

The emerald dragon's head cocked so that it was looking up at her, and a tendril of inquisitiveness reached across their tentative link. The creature's mind was soft and innocent, but if Evelyn looked deeper, she could feel centuries of ingrained knowledge. Physically, the dragon was a baby, but within the depths of its brain it was more ancient than even Galbatorix. Evelyn flinched at the contact, not quite accustomed to the purely mental way of communicating, but determined to become accustomed to it. The dragon obviously didn't understand how to speak in words, and so Evelyn was determined to speak in words as well as images.

"My hair isn't usually like this," she explained, sending an image of her hair without the tangles, long and wavy. The dragon examined the image carefully, and seemed to compare the image with what it saw at present. Evelyn blinked as the dragon projected its own image of her, and the sudden transference of senses was so overwhelming that the young woman was forced to grip the bedpost tightly in order to keep her balance.

Evelyn was staring at the opposite wall, but at the same time she was staring up at an image of herself. In the sudden switch of perspectives, Evelyn was large, looming over the bed. The mirror image of herself was sharp and defined, with greens dominating the color-scheme. The young woman had never seen herself, and so she drank in the image she was being shown with a fervent curiosity.

Underneath the peeling that was a result of the blistering sun, the young woman's skin was pale and faintly tanned, a sharp contrast against the dark, auburn tangles that fell over her shoulders and spilled down her back. If Evelyn looked closely, she could see that her hair had numerous streaks of reddish bronze – nearly a week in the relentless sun must have lightened it. Her body was slender, almost unhealthily so, and her arms and legs were scattered with scars; some whitened from age, others still in the process of healing. Evelyn looked at them without feeling, not willing to let the memories of how she received those marks rise once more. What was done was done; there was nothing Evelyn could do to erase the past.

Evelyn finally moved up to the face, and this was what held her attention the longest. A face was what one used to interact with the world around them, a tool that was used to connect with others. Evelyn, having grown up ignorant of what was considered beautiful in terms of human physique, did not even consider attractiveness in examining her own features. Evelyn had seen beauty in her limited experience; the flickering flames of a hearth, so vibrant and vivid. _That_ was beautiful. The grand tapestries present in the upper levels of the castle, with their stunning depictions – the king flying into battle astride his dragon, a shimmering lake with trees waving in the breeze, the proud and noble faces of the now-deceased Forsworn – _those_ were breathtaking. Beautiful could be used in describing the sound of the rain hitting the tin roof of the stables as Evelyn groomed the coats of the horses. The sound had been so striking in its simplicity that it often left Evelyn gasping for breath, her heart racing and face flushed in wonder.

But human features? Evelyn failed to connect the idea that humans could be seen as beautiful. It was just too ludicrous a notion. How could the curve of a forehead or the wideness of a smile even hope to match the glorious vastness of a sunset?

The visage Evelyn examined was oval in shape – similar to many of the slaves Evelyn had seen in the castle – with a gently rounded jaw line. Freckles were sprinkled across the face's smallish nose and cheekbones, and above that were hazel eyes, with flecks of gold. The same color eyes as the girl in Evelyn's dream, the identical shade. Was it just coincidence? Evelyn looked down to see lips that were a bit pinker than the rest of her skin, but other than that, unremarkable in shape save for the fact that the corners curved downward ever so slightly.

Evelyn pulled back into her mind once more, and found the dragon squeaking in delight, waddling over the blankets in order to nuzzle her stomach. Joy and adoration came through the bond, and Evelyn looked down at the dragon, her hands automatically stroking the creature. The dragon was barely four days old, and yet it was already feeling such intense feelings of love toward its Rider. Was this normal? Was it a result of the circumstances under which it had hatched, forced to search for her rather than wake up seeing her face? Was it just the unique personality of the dragon, to love without abandon?

Evelyn cursed her lack of knowledge regarding dragons, and reached down to cuddle the dragon in her arms, letting the enthusiastic creature awkwardly clamber until it was comfortably settled on her shoulder. The weight was not uncomfortable, and a smile touched Evelyn's somber face when the dragon chirped – an obvious order for the girl to move forward.

Cannel watched the interaction with obvious amusement, and when Evelyn caught him staring, he smiled once more, leaning against the wall. His pale eyes were alight with joy, and his voice contained hints of a strange, musical accent when he spoke.

"I have never seen such a sight. I thank you for allowing me to witness it," he murmured, and bent his head in an unmistakable bow of respect. Evelyn wanted to tell the man to rise, to stop treating her like something she wasn't, but something held her back.

The dragon on her shoulder sensed her conflicting emotions, and licked her cheek with its raspy tongue in an attempt to console her. Cannel rose after a few long moments of silence, the strange fluidness to his movements gone, and gestured for Evelyn to follow him. The dragon wiggled in excitement as the Rider exited the healing room, stepping into a circular area that was separated into a cooking area, sitting room and library. The wall of scrolls was what caught her attention, and she was walking over to it before she could even take a breath.

The smell that pervaded the air around the scrolls was dusty and sweet, and smelling it took Evelyn back in time. The castle library had been surrounded by darkness and unspeakable cruelty, but whenever Evelyn had been lucky enough to clean in that particular part of the palace, the tranquility always put her at ease. The sound of parchment sliding across tables was soothing, and the light flickering from magical flames – they floated in numerous places along the shelves and above the tables, in shades of silver, blue, and purple – added an air of mystery to the place. It was a sanctuary that not even the desolation of slavery could subdue.

Fingertips brushed against the wooden shelves, and Evelyn's mouth parted in pleasure as she breathed in deeply. The dragon atop her shoulder seemed very interested in the strange rolled up objects as well, but Evelyn refused to let it get close. Evelyn glanced at its sharp claws and teeth, and without further ado she tugged the dragon off of her shoulder, placing it on the floor beside her feet. She didn't want to risk harming the precious collection of literature. The scaled creature immediately soured, and a high-pitched keen rose from its throat as it curled around her leg. Cannel moved to stand beside her, and the dragon eyed the man with suspicious eyes. It would seem that the old healer hadn't yet earned the trust of the reptile quite yet.

"You enjoy literature?" the man asked, obviously astonished at her obvious appreciation of the library. His surprise wasn't unfounded; slaves were taken from small villages and the lower parts of cities, meaning that most (if not all) were illiterate. Evelyn hesitated before inclining her head in a nod, glancing nervously at Cannel's reaction.

"Yes. I taught myself while I was in the castle…I can only read and write in the Ancient Language, though," Evelyn reluctantly admitted, and the man's eyes brightened considerably. Something shifted in his form, and Evelyn eyed the man warily. Cannel was smiling so widely that Evelyn quickly scanned over her words, trying to unveil what had been amusing to the healer. Cannel seemed to sense her confusion, for his smile faded somewhat, but the brightness remained in his pale eyes.

"It is just as well, because I happen to enjoy recording my discoveries and observations in the Ancient Language. All of these scrolls are free for you to read, if you wish. Do you speak it as well?"

"Yes," she responded curtly, feeling an uncomfortable itch on her skin at the thought of trusting this man with any more of her secrets.

Cannel's eyes softened. He moved closer, careful not to step on the dragon at her feet. His face was impossibly kind, and Evelyn felt tears coming to her eyes at the sympathy present in his eyes. No one had ever looked at her in that way, not even Elris.

"Fricai onr eka eddyr, Shur'tugal."

Evelyn's mind automatically translated the words: _I am your friend, Dragon Rider_.

The young woman looked back to the shelves of scrolls, and her throat was tight as she corrected the man. Part of her was still denying the idea that she was now a Dragon Rider, part of her wanted to be normal, if only in this small paradise that was the hermit's home.

"My name is Evelyn."

Cannel blinked in surprise, and a serene smile crossed his lips as he bowed his head in acknowledgement. The two stood side by side, each absorbed in their own thoughts, the dragon looking up at each in an attempt to gain their attention. Evelyn felt its mind probing hers, indignant with its lack of understanding. The young woman sighed, and bowed to Cannel before lifting her dragon into her arms, striding across the living room and out of the house.

~x~X~x~

The area outside the house was as simple and beautiful as the interior, built amidst the lush, mossy forest that glowed brilliant emerald in the sunshine. Evelyn's light brown steed was standing quietly in a fenced pasture, along with two other horses – one gray, the other a dark black-brown. Through the trees, Evelyn glimpsed the glittering surface of the lake from before, glossy and rippling in the breeze. She turned away instinctively, still haunted by the unpleasant feeling of sinking below the water and sucking mouthfuls of the liquid into her lungs.

The house of Cannel was of a strange make, almost as if the material had been shaped out of the ground, so gracefully built and having no sharp edges. It was breathtaking, residing between two gnarled trees, and seemed to be a natural part of the landscape. A large, gently flowing river ran along the back of the house, disappearing into the depths of the forest. Thick grass grew below her, unkempt and long, sparkling dew kissing her aching feet as she slowly moved through it. Birds tweeted and chirped at her as they fluttered past, and she twirled in a circle, following their accent into the upper canopy with an expression of awe.

Evelyn moved to face the deeper part of the forest, where the river vanished into, and a shiver went through her as she looked into the dark green shadows. It didn't frighten her, but there was a strange energy that seemed to be whispering from within its depths, and she felt herself automatically flinching away from it.

She felt the small dragon squirming, and she hurriedly let it down, hissing when one of its claws left a shallow cut on her forearm. The dragon immediately froze, feeling her pain, and began whimpering in unhappiness. Evelyn stared at the creature, raising an eyebrow of distaste. The dragon was surprisingly soft-hearted for its kind; weren't dragons supposed to be fierce, even as hatchlings? The former slave knelt beside the creature, and showed her the cut, and then pointed to her face, bereft of pain or resentment.

"I'm fine, I'm okay. There's no need to get upset," Evelyn brusquely explained, and the dragon cocked its head, obviously trying to understand her words. The young woman sighed, and sent stern emotions over their link, showing images of Evelyn shrugging off the pain and cuddling the creature close to her. The dragon let out a growl of challenge, flapping its wings rapidly if not a bit unsteadily, and Evelyn realized that it was trying to show her how tough it could be. The little dragon's attempts to intimidate sent her into a wild bout of hysterics, and no matter how she tried to contain herself, the bubbly spasms in her chest just wouldn't stop.

The dragon, folding its wings smugly, leapt onto her stomach, rolling with her in the grass. The sounds coming from her mouth seemed to relieve a great pressure inside of her heart. It was light and freeing, and after it had subsided somewhat, Evelyn sat very still, staring at the dragon in confusion. Was laughter supposed to make her feel light and happy? When the cruel magicians laughed, it always sent a chill of revulsion down her spine. But when Evelyn found herself laughing, all she felt was bliss and a strange sense of childish freedom.

Her dragon mewed in her general direction, and then waddled off to investigate a nearby tree, snuffing and retreating hastily when it accidentally inhaled a clump of moss. Evelyn laughed again – the sound came more easily this time, more naturally – and propped herself up on her elbows, staring up at the shelter of leaves that blocked the sun's piercing rays.

There was a slight clearing of someone's throat, and Evelyn shot up so fast that her head spun. Her dragon snarled low in its throat, leaping to her side and crouching low, scales bristling like the fur of a cornered feline. The two turned in the direction of the sound, and saw a tall, lean man standing in the shadow of a tree. His hair was dark, darker than Evelyn's, and it fell to his shoulders.

The stranger had a sword strapped to his waist, but he made no move to withdraw it from its sheath. The young man simply stood, watching her, his thin lips pursed as if deciding what expression best suited the situation at hand.

Evelyn knew the stranger's identity almost immediately, though how she knew was beyond her understanding.

The ever-elusive Murtagh had finally chosen to show himself.

~x~X~x~

_A huge thanks to _**senses-freedom**, _who has been kind enough to take on the role of Beta-Reader for this story. =D_


	4. Skölir

If one were to come upon the two at that moment, a mere spectator that had perhaps lost their way along the winding path that is this tale, he or she would most likely say that the air between the two humans was calm, tranquil even. Both of their figures were relaxed, bereft of surprise or wariness. If not for the outwardly tense, growling dragon that paced in between the man and the woman, one would perhaps consider the two to be close acquaintances.

Evelyn did what was natural to her when confronted with strangers; absolutely nothing at all. Moving would cause even more scrutiny, and so she remained perfectly still, not even daring to look at her dragon. In her peripheral vision, however, she marveled in the brilliance of the creature when it stepped into a patch of sunlight. Its scales were more vibrant and beautiful than the lush, glossy grass that was decorated with small watery diamonds, with slightly upraised wings that looked like parchment that was being held up against the sun; translucent and delicate, dyed a creamy bottle-green.

Her eyes remained locked onto Murtagh's dark ones, as was customary when meeting someone of equal or lower status. Evelyn knew instinctively that this man was nobility; it was clear by the finely cut, clean quality of his clothing and the slight arrogance to his stance. The young woman had seen so many nobles in her lifetime that the subtleties of noble behavior had become blatantly obvious. She had been conditioned to fear and submit to them; it was only natural that she would work to better understand them.

But she was no longer a servant girl who hid herself in the shadows, striving to find something to live for. Never again – Evelyn refused to think of the dark king – would she lower herself to those who did not deserve respect; she would be independent in determining the merit of those around her. There was a strong power residing in her now, and Evelyn knew that it was her bond with the emerald dragon before her. She was more than just a human woman; she was a Rider.

Murtagh did not show any emotion on his face in response to her blatant staring, instead flicking his eyes up and down her frame. His gaze lingered on her dress, and the symbol boldly stamped onto the breast of the threadbare fabric. Murtagh's gaze was not intruding or malicious in any way, and yet Evelyn felt the sudden, shameful urge to cover the mark from sight. But she managed to restrain herself, and remained motionless. The silence grew until even Evelyn's dragon decided to cease its growls, moving quickly to Evelyn's side. The creature curled up in her lap, eyes never once leaving the young brown-haired man.

"How did you do it?"

The sudden question, as well as the surprising deepness of Murtagh's voice – she had never heard any of the male slaves speak, not even when the slaves were left alone – startled Evelyn, and her shoulders jerked slightly as if flinching away from an impending blow. It was so instinctive that the young woman didn't notice it until Murtagh gave her a deep, searching look, his eyes scanning her face solemnly. Evelyn flushed and turned her head away – she was humiliated by her cowardly reaction, even though it was no fault of her own that she was conditioned to fear direct questions. As a slave, any unnecessary attention paid to her was a sure sign that torture was soon to follow, and death was a definite possibility.

Murtagh's brow furrowed slightly in confusion, and he subtly shifted his weight so he was leaning more comfortably against the tree trunk, idly crossing his legs at the ankles. When Evelyn's voice continued to escape her grasp, he spoke again, his tone more hurried, his eyes burning into her face.

"How did you do it? I've been inside of that castle, it's extremely well guarded," he repeated, and Evelyn just stared at him, too surprised to consider responding.

For in that brief moment, when he frowned, his features had become familiar. She…she had _seen_ him before! Where had she seen him? He wasn't a slave…so that would mean that he was among those who willingly served Galbatorix. No, that would mean that this man was an enemy! He was here to take her back, to put the chains back…on…

"You lived in the castle," Evelyn stated, her eyes wide. Murtagh hesitated, and then slowly nodded, his mouth tilting downward in a displeased scowl.

Icy jolts of terror dripped down her spine, and her heart began beating panicked rhythm against her ribcage. Her dragon was picking up on her fear, and was reacting in kind, not comprehending anything beyond the fact that this man, Murtagh, was the enemy. It began snarling, and flapped its wings fiercely – much more threatening than the creature's mock intimidation of before – sending a clear warning to Murtagh. The world began shuddering and shaking, and Murtagh's face shifted in obvious confusion. Evelyn knew, deep down, that the world was not shaking…_she _was. But no matter how she tried to calm herself, the panic would not leave.

She couldn't go back to that place.

"_Scream, my little pet, as loudly as you want. Everyone can hear you, but you want to know the truth? No one will _ever _come to save you!" _

Evelyn gasped as the memory bombarded her already agitated mind, and she scrambled to her feet. Her bare skin slipped in the wet grass – a few minutes ago, it had been beautiful, but now it was terribly cold and seemed to claw at her ankles – as she struggled to back away from the young man. Evelyn stared at Murtagh, not daring to turn her back on him. The sound of her thumping pulse roared in her ears, and the ground swam before her eyes. Everything was spinning…

Murtagh, a blur of darkness and tan skin, moved forward, and Evelyn held her arms across her face, a weak attempt to shield herself. Murtagh stopped as her dragon leapt to her defense, the small creature biting and snapping in the man's direction.

Murtagh's face was shadowed, and his eyes were hard with understanding. "You were a slave, weren't you?"

It wasn't a question, and Evelyn lowered her head in response, clenching her fists in an attempt to restrain the cruel thoughts streaming into her mind. The expression on Evelyn's face was not afraid – it had not shifted in the span of her panic – instead perfectly smooth, her eyes glazing over in the customary way of hers.

_Evelyn was putting away dishes when a magician stormed in, so furious that his magic was spiking and flaring unpredictably. The other slaves were able to slink into the shelter of the numerous shadows, but Evelyn – this occurred two summers before her escape – was unlucky enough to be in the man's line of sight. She heard the door slam, and barely had time to turn when a violent burst of magic tugged her toward the opposite wall. _

_Her body smashed into the stone, and a groan left her as her muscles cried out in agony. The slave's head had cracked against the shelf, and blood began to trickle down her forehead, down the side of her cheek, finally pooling in the crevice of her slightly parted lips. Tangy rust filled her mouth, and the girl coughed, bleakly noting that she would now have two lumps on her head, one on either side. Like horns, Evelyn imagined. Her lips twitched at the thought. _

_The magic dropped her, and a gust of air left the slave's chest as she fell on her stomach. Evelyn remained sprawled where she fell, staring at the legs of the table, waiting for the magician to get his fill of hurting her. _

_Evelyn had learned quickly that fighting it only led to more pain, and so her brain had become strangely numb when magic was used on her. She was able to disconnect herself, almost, and it offered a reprieve from the humiliation of public torture. After a time, the pain became a dim, echoing annoyance, so utterly disconnected Evelyn was. _

"_Enough. It's almost dinnertime, Fordic," a man barked, and the magician stopped by Evelyn's head. He was wearing long robes of sickly purple, and a flap of the fabric washed over Evelyn's face when the magician viciously kicked Evelyn onto her back. The purple cloth smelled of rotten straw – the magician must have been in the stables at some point. _

_Evelyn lay, silent and waiting, her eyes staring up at the ceiling. The candles suspended there were oddly hunched, as if the slender tubes of wax were afraid of drawing the attention of the magician. The man was balding, and his face was creased with a thousand wrinkles, even more pronounced when the magician scowled – as he was doing now. _

"_All right, I understand," he murmured, and he moved his face so that it was looking down at Evelyn's. His eyes were a unpleasant shade of greenish-brown, but Evelyn was so sucked into her own world that none of her disgust crossed her face. The man flinched back, his expression uneasy, and hurriedly exited the chamber. _

_Evelyn waited a moment, and then stood up. Without a sound, she wiped her face with her bare fingers, brushing her bloody hands on her coarse skirt. _

_Then, she returned to her dishes. _

Murtagh sighed, sitting a distance away from her – her dragon stood guard over her still, its mind reeling with confusion at why its Rider's emotions were suddenly so erratic – and he took the time to really look at her. Evelyn looked down, her teeth biting her lower lip so violently that blood began to flow. The sharp tang roused her from her delirious panic somewhat, and she was able to look at him more clearly.

"I'm not going to hurt you. I just…I just wanted to know how a slave escaped that wretch of a place, because I barely did, and I had plenty more resources. That was all. If you don't want to tell me, I understand," Murtagh said, and Evelyn's attention perked somewhat at the raw emotion behind his words. She had been fooled many times when she was younger, foolishly buying into the smooth and deceptively soothing voices of the magicians. She had learned to distinguish the difference between honesty and a false sense of comfort.

What intrigued her most was that Murtagh sounded completely truthful. Why would a noble willingly leave the comfort of the castle? He must have lived in the castle for his entire life, Evelyn reasoned. Cannel had mentioned that Murtagh had only been there for a few weeks, which was proven by the cleanness of his garb – it was impossible that he had done any extended traveling.

Evelyn wanted to walk away from this stranger. In all honesty, it was probably the best thing to do. If Murtagh was indeed telling the truth – as a highly prized Empire noble, she couldn't be sure if he was truly honest – than he would have soldiers out looking for him, and Evelyn was treading a fine line between freedom and peril as it was. The small dragon whipped its head to peer at her, sensing her conflict, and it growled at her, sternly this time. Evelyn could sense its dissatisfaction; it was only a hatchling, after all, and it was already being forced to engage in the complex instability of a human woman.

_Explain yourself, _the dragon's jewel-like eyes demanded. Of course, no words were spoken, but the plaintive frustration behind the stare was understood with perfect clarity.

The young woman in question sent a glare in her dragon's direction. The scaled beast snorted in response, indignant and hurt by its Rider's inexplicable anger. Murtagh was watching the interaction, and a twisted grimace passed across his smooth, distinctly masculine features.

"Why did you take it? Surely you knew what would happen if you were caught," he questioned curtly, and Evelyn flinched ever so slightly, but much less violently than before. The world had ceased its sickening spinning, and her heart was slowing to a more manageable pace. Panic ebbed away, slow and reluctant, and the small dragon quickly waddled to her side, nuzzling her thigh. It was still irritated with her for refusing to explain the situation, but its love overpowered everything else. Evelyn was shocked at the level of devotion present within such a rare and beautiful creature. Surely Evelyn wasn't worthy of such tender adulation.

Evelyn couldn't remember a time when she had been so unconditionally loved. She remembered nothing of the time before her servitude, and so she could not be certain if her parents had showed her the same affection. The young woman was not silly enough to assume that they had, and so she put it out of her thoughts, as it was useless to ponder a life that was no longer hers.

Evelyn sat silently for a few short moments, eyeing Murtagh suspiciously. Then, with a silent exhalation, she relented.

"I _knew_ that it was mine," she whispered, shocked at how easily the answer came to her. At the time, she hadn't really understood what had prompted her to take the egg. The moment she touched it in Galbatorix's chambers, something just screamed inside of her, urging her to hold it close and give it everything she had.

The egg was the answer to everything.

The words hadn't been there, but the tugging desire had, and so Evelyn had taken the egg without a moment's hesitation.

Murtagh frowned. "You couldn't have known that."

"I did," Evelyn refuted sharply, sensing his skepticism, and Murtagh shrugged noncommittally. The two settled into a stiff silence, both reluctant to break the quiet air once it had been established. The moments passed, and Evelyn's dragon slowly sniffed in Murtagh's direction, snorting when the scent of leather reached its nose. Evelyn could feel its desire to investigate the new scents that accompanied Murtagh, but even so, it did not move from Evelyn's side, too intent on protecting its Rider.

The young woman was frustrated, not knowing how to interact with this strange enigma of a person. She had never had the need to develop social skills; in fact, the idea that she would ever escape the castle had been but a distant dream. It was what kept her sane and determined to survive, but subconsciously, she had seriously doubted her chances.

So why had she even attempted her plan?

"Wiol pömnuria ilian," Evelyn murmured in answer to her silent question.

_For __my __happiness_.

It was the response she had given herself many times before, and it was the honest truth. Living in a world where those around her made themselves blind to the misfortunes of others had proven her theory; there was no use in caring for others, because in the end, everyone ended up alone.

Her dragon perked at the sound of the lilting language, and its tail twitched eagerly. Evelyn was delighted to find that the dragon understood the gist of what she had said, and reached out to rub the creature's neck, feeling a surge of warmth when it began to croon in pleasure. She wasn't sure how the dragon understood the Ancient Language, but it was very intriguing to discover. Evelyn made a note to test it more thoroughly when she and the dragon were once more alone.

Murtagh looked at the young woman with an expression of curious reluctance on his face. Evelyn blinked, unused to such close scrutiny for such a long period of time, and scowled, turning away with a huff.

"Do you wish for me to go?" Murtagh asked in response to her turning away, and Evelyn did not respond. Did she wish him gone? To respond in the affirmative would result in him leaving her alone, and that was very good. But at the same time, she didn't want him to leave. Murtagh was not harsh and cold, nor was he pestering her with questions that she would rather not answer. He was merely there, another warm-blooded human being, watching the forest brighten as the day wore on.

"No," she replied.

And so Murtagh stayed, and silence reigned once more.

~x~X~x~

Nothing more was said between them until the sky – barely visible through the thick leafy canopy – lightened to a soft dusky gray-gold. Sunset was approaching, and Murtagh spoke, for the first time since asking Evelyn if she wanted him to leave her alone.

"I'm Murtagh," he offered, his eyes still scanning the trees and their twisted branches. Evelyn looked over at him, startled by the sound of a voice after so long of a silence. The dragon crooned in her arms, stretching its limbs languorously – it had just been awoken from its light doze. Evelyn studied the young man's face, forcing the panic away as the thrill of recognition returned, more strongly than before. How was it that she knew his face so well?

But, to her fierce disappointment, the answer continued to elude her, with no hope of revealing itself any time soon.

"My name is Evelyn," Evelyn offered in return, her tone unintentionally brusque. Murtagh sensed her irritation, that much was clear, but thankfully he did not take offence. Perhaps he was able to discern that her anger was more directed toward her faulty memory than with Murtagh himself. Or maybe he had decided that she was insane. Maybe…maybe…?

The young woman grimaced. There was no end to the confusion!

She was feeling tired even though she had done nothing more than stare at the sky all day. A large pressure was pushing down against her breast, reminding her of the many things she was ignorant of. Evelyn's world was the castle of King Galbatorix, as much as she wished to deny it. It was a place of terror and of unspeakable evil, but it was also her sanctuary.

Evelyn had touched every single torch, had memorized every stairway and hall, and adored each and every dusty particle of the great library. The slaves around her were not her friends – not even Elris, who was more like a distant guardian who had become less and less present as time went on – and Evelyn felt secure in the knowledge that she would have no regrets should she manage to escape. Her duties, as laborious as they were at times, gave her something to do each day. Her studying of the library scrolls gave her a false sense of hope that she would have something to offer if she ever did rejoin society.

But that hope was quickly fading as reality swept down upon her. Sure, she could clean and cook, but those were skills that only got one so far. In order to receive those jobs, one had to be sociable, likeable, and knowledgeable.

Evelyn was none of these.

Evelyn was skilled, but in very narrow areas. She knew how to read, write, and speak the Ancient Language, but that was a skill only fully utilized by the elves, and their kind was shielded from the rest of Alagaësia. She knew how to speak the common human language, but reading and writing it was beyond her – there had been no scrolls explaining the basics of the language, as there had been with the Ancient Language.

Ordinary magicians that spoke the language fluently were extremely rare, if Evelyn's dealings with the king's spell casters had been any inclination. Although the magicians in the castle knew much of the language, Evelyn had found over time that their knowledge was limited to words of pain and simple phrases. They had to refer to scrolls for anything more complex, which hindered them. Outside the elvish community, the Riders had spoken the language with perfect ease – Evelyn assumed this, seeing as how proficient and intricate Galbatorix's magic was – but they were gone now.

She could clean and cook, but she knew nothing of how to interact with others. Her life had been consumed by the safety of silence and the wisdom in ignoring those around her, it wasn't within her nature to branch out and feel concern for others. In her mind, it was a sort of logic; she had been forced to experience and learn the pain of the world on her own, and so everyone else should do the same.

Evelyn knew nothing of the world. That was the most jarring realization. Outside of Urû'baen, she was as lost as a mouse that has wandered too far from its hole. Evelyn, much like the lost mouse, was waiting for a prowling calamity to strike when she was least expecting it. Of maps she was completely naïve, and when it came to different cultures she had no basis from which to begin. Of etiquette she knew nothing, of relationships she was painfully unaware.

The other slaves, those who had come into slavery at a later age, did not share their knowledge with her, and it had not occurred for her to ask. Had she truly been so comfortable – she could not think of a more fit description – that she hadn't had even the slightest inclination to learn of the world outside? She had imagined it, dreamed about it even…and yet something had prevented her from questioning those who had been outside the castle walls.

Cannel's voice suddenly filled the silence, making Evelyn's body jerk automatically. The dragon by her side rasped its tongue against the top of her hand, tracing along her index finger, huffing in contentment as it licked in earnest. Evelyn was befuddled at the obvious pleasure the creature received in the act. Did it _like_ the taste of the salty sweat on her skin?

"Evelyn, are you out here?"

Murtagh sighed, getting to his feet. Evelyn scrambled to her own, glad that he had not offered her a hand. That was crossing the line that Evelyn had put in between them, a barrier that would stay in place for as long as Evelyn decided necessary. Murtagh didn't _seem _evil, but the most charming nobles were often the worst, and so she kept her distance.

Her dragon pawed at her bare feet, and Evelyn felt the warm bubbly feelings as the creature's mind brushed against hers, exuding waves of adoration. Evelyn knelt down and lifted the dragon onto her shoulder, tentatively sending similar waves of warmth across their link. The green-scaled dragon let out a squeak of satisfaction at the contact, and curled its tail around her shoulder in order to stabilize itself.

Murtagh's eyes watched the two of them, and they were as dark and calculating as they had been when Evelyn first set eyes on him. They were standing closer, now, and Evelyn noted that the man's eyes were gray, the color of clouds preparing for a thunderstorm. Murtagh turned and strode toward the sound of Cannel's voice – which would lead to the house, no doubt – without another word.

Evelyn waited until he was a good distance ahead of her, and then quickly followed, her arms folding across her chest and – quite unknowingly – covering the mark of Galbatorix.

~x~X~x~

_A whole lot of thanks to _**senses-freedom**_, who beta-ed this chapter. You're AMAZING! I don't think I tell you enough..._


	5. Fram

"Concentrate, Evelyn," Cannel murmured, and Evelyn's eyes did not stray from her target to recognize that the man had spoken, her face remaining perfectly blank. Internally, however, she was fuming, and she grimly considered the consequences of throwing the object of her concentration – a small bluish-gray stone – at the magician's head.

Concentrate, concentrate…he kept _saying_ that! Was there some sign that she _wasn't _concentrating? She could think of no other reason for why Cannel seemed so inclined to keep reminding her to focus.

Cannel, completely ignorant of her internal rebelliousness, smiled demurely.

Evelyn was beginning to regret agreeing to Cannel's suggestion that she learn magic. She knew that wielding magic was an integral skill of the Riders, but at the same time she couldn't just set aside her own experiences. Too many times had she been subject to its immeasurable cruelty, too many instances had she cowered in the face of the simple words spoken to draw upon its power.

Evelyn had been the recipient of such power. The idea of using that same power to impose control over _anything _– even the magicians who had used magic to cause her irreparable pain – made her queasy, and she shifted uncomfortably.

The emerald dragon was sleeping in the thick, velvety grass, tail wrapped around its middle. The creature melded into the colors until only the white-cream of its horns and claws separated it from the undergrowth. While when it had hatched the dragon had been the size of a large cat, now the dragon – nearly two weeks later – was almost twice that size. It was quickly becoming less of a cuddly playmate, especially now that it was now more thoroughly tapping into Evelyn's thoughts and emotions.

At first, Evelyn had rejected the thought of her dragon being so purposefully intimate, but after a time she realized that it was not trying to be intrusive, it was merely attempting to learn at a faster rate. This realization prompted Evelyn to fully open up her mind, and the dragon had been delighted at her eagerness to connect.

Evelyn, with some difficulty, tore her attention away from her dragon, and focused on her right hand once more.

The stone lay innocently on the silvery mark present in the center of her palm. Evelyn was currently positioned on one of the large roots of an enormous oak, with Cannel seated a few yards to her right. Sunshine floated down to illuminate the grass, lighting up half of her face. Instinctually, Evelyn made the necessary adjustment so that her eyes were in shadow once more.

The young woman had been instructed to – in the Ancient Language, of course – say 'stone, rise'. Apparently, this was supposed to make the stone hover in her palm. Cannel had demonstrated it to her when they began, and she had watched with grim, reluctant fascination as the stone darted in between his fingers, dancing gaily across his knuckles.

It appeared to be simple. Cannel said that the dragons and their riders were so intimately connected that the magic was natural, much stronger and more stable than the magic used by simple magicians. But Evelyn wasn't sure that she liked the idea of magic becoming a part of her.

Magic was dangerous; magic had destroyed her chance for a normal life. To think, if there was no magic, there would be no dragons or Riders, and no Ancient Language and no elves. There would be no unfair advantages in the act of war, no hidden spells or disastrous traps laid by magicians. Most crucial of all; Galbatorix would have never risen to power.

Staring at the stone, she wondered what she would have been like had she not spent her entire conscious life as a slave. The speckled grayness seemed to glitter maliciously, and she was reminded of her task. Closing her eyes, Evelyn whispered the words, trying in vain to draw upon...bah! She didn't even know _what_ she was drawing on! Cannel spoke of it like a vault of subconscious energy, but no matter how Evelyn searched, there was nothing to be found.

If her village had never been annihilated, would she be an educated, cheerful woman who loved to paint? Well certainly not a painter. Evelyn was somehow sure that her strong, indelicate hands – roughened and strengthened by years of harsh soap and strenuous scrubbing of floors and dishes – were not meant for creating anything remotely beautiful.

No, she could have been a farmer, or a maker of useful things such as saddles or furniture. She could have been happily married, with a few children at her hearth. Round stones could make a pretty wall around the modest house and garden, with a carved wooden gate marking the entrance. The large garden could be full of delicious vegetables, the tomatoes bright orange-red against the vibrant green of the garden. A small boy or girl could have played in the mulch, tiny hands waving and bobbing, chubby legs pumping as the child trotted toward a good-natured man with a large grin on his sun-kissed face. Large hands could scoop the little toddler up, and peals of high-pitched giggles could echo in the small courtyard. The man could turn and look back at the smiling Evelyn, his arm reaching out, beckoning her to join them–

Evelyn let the stone slip from the cradle of her palm. The thumping sound it made as it fell on the exposed roots should have been satisfying – she had spent the last hour cursing its simple and unconquerable weight – but instead the sound filled her with a resounding emptiness.

What could have been…would never be.

Cannel sighed, and before he had a chance to reproach her, she stood. Cannel had discarded of her old dress at her request, and now she wore one of much better quality. Instead of a lifeless gray, the clean fabric was a pretty brown, the shade of the tree trunks at dusk. It had sleeves that clung to her arms, ending just before her elbows, which pleased her greatly. The slightly darker colored skirt was not thick, as the old skirt had been, instead made of a soft, airy material that reached her ankles. The neckline was modest, scooping low enough to account for the warmth of the forest, and still sensibly covering up any possible cleavage – Evelyn's breasts were relatively small, a fact that pleased her, seeing as small breasts were much easier to cover up and contain.

Evelyn looked to her right, and saw that her dragon was awake now, staring up at her with sparkling emerald eyes. It must have felt her horrible sense of loss, and a pang of warmth went through the young woman at the thought that this creature was aware of her even when in the depths of sleep. It cared about her; it wanted to keep her safe. It _loved_ her.

Evelyn knelt down, raising her arms. The creature crowed jubilantly at her unspoken cue, and ran over to her, nuzzling her neck and allowing itself to be carried. The dragon was a bit heavy, but the weight was nothing she couldn't handle. Without saying a word to the befuddled magician, Evelyn turned on her heel and strode off toward the equine holding pen.

It was situated a bit apart from the house, nearest to the wall of trees that offered sparing glimpses of the other side – the closeness and security of the forest really made it seem like a completely separate dimension, somehow cut off from the rest of the world. The sun glittered on the surface of the large lake, and the desert hills were far to the east. Urû'baen was a mere shadow to the north, the remnant of a bad dream.

Evelyn quickly turned away from the terrifying openness the other world offered, sinking back into the forest once more.

Strong, carefully attached pieces of wood made up the large, vaguely circular pasture. After some examination, it was clear that the arena was made so that if one was familiar with the way it fit together, it could be easily taken apart. Cannel must move the arena every month or so to keep the inhabitants from eating all of the grass. The river passed through the far northern sector, and so there was no need to haul water for the beasts.

Evelyn's faithful mare was standing with her head down, warm brown coat healthy and shining. The young woman sighed, reaching over to pat the thick neck. It was warm and hard, the muscles shifting as the horse snorted discontentedly. Evelyn frowned, and realized that her dragon was leaning over, snorting smoke and hissing in an attempt to scare the larger animal. The equine stomped its feet, and reared slightly in distress, confused as to why the comforting smell of human was combined with the dangerous smell of predator.

Cannel and Murtagh's steeds (Evelyn wasn't sure whose was whose) looked up from their grass, mildly concerned as to why their companion was so distraught. When they saw nothing but Evelyn and a harmless – to them, anyway – lizard creature, they snorted as if to chastise Evelyn's horse for being so easily startled, and returned to their much more interesting clumps of grass.

"Stop it, right now," Evelyn said sternly, pushing disapproving feelings across their link. The dragon's wings, which had been slightly upraised in amusement, slumped, and it turned to eye Evelyn.

_Why?_ the dragon asked inquiringly, cocking its head in further bewilderment.

That was one of the first words that the creature had learned, and it was no surprise. Evelyn had had her fair share of curious slave children, and she thought they were bad – they were insufferable, actually. Compared to the inquisitiveness of the dragon, those children's questions were as mild as a bowl of sugarless porridge. The creature was always wondering how things worked, including Evelyn herself. Whenever Evelyn would remember – either in dream form, or in brief waking moments – the sessions of torture back at the castle, it was an immediate question. Why were they hurting her?

Evelyn had asked herself the same question so many times that she had long abandoned ever finding an answer. She said as much to the dragon, and she could tell that it did not satisfy the creature's confusion, but it also sensed that Evelyn didn't wish to speak of it any more than necessary.

The young Rider scowled. "Because, it's not nice. This mare has done you no wrong; in fact, it deserves nothing but the utmost respect; she takes us where we need to go without complaint. Also," she paused, and a smile crossed her lips, impossibly small. "she may be scared of you in my arms, but imagine what she would think if you were on the ground in front of her."

In case the message wasn't clear enough, Evelyn sent an image of the dragon, cowering in front of the looming mare, and the sharp and resounding pain of a horse hoof colliding with flesh. Evelyn had had her fair share of being kicked by irritable horses, and still had scars to mark those occasions. The dragon shuddered in her arms, and cooed hurriedly, trying to make up for the teasing.

_Sorry, sorry_, it repeated over and over, striving to remain in its Rider's good graces. Evelyn nodded, understanding that it comprehended the lesson, and set the scaled creature down on the thick wood. It was not an act of cruelty, for she stayed quite close in order to offer the creature support. Her arms were merely getting tired, and so she needed to put her burden down for a few moments.

The dragon dug its claws into the wood, and its eyes were wide with panic. Its wings lifted in order to provide more balance, and after a moment it seemed to have a hold on its stability. It moved forward carefully, and after a few minutes it was walking with ease.

Waves of triumph seeped through the bond, and Evelyn smiled more widely, stepping back a few feet. She opened her arms, beckoning with her fingers. The dragon leapt, mouth opening in exhilaration, wings beating furiously. It managed to glide for a few inches, and then Evelyn stepped forward and caught it. Its claws dug into her skin, but the pain was so minute that she barely registered it.

"_Here _you are," Murtagh's voice suddenly sounded, and Evelyn's heart nearly leapt out of her chest. She whipped around so quickly that her dragon was nearly dislodged from her arms. The creature whined in protest, and hissed at her for being so careless. The young man smirked at her expression of shock, and took a few steps forward, waiting for her to react in some way.

Evelyn stared, not socially aware enough to recognize the rudeness in the way she unashamedly eyed him up and down. Some might think that the look was suggestive of some hidden attraction, and had it been anyone but Evelyn, the assumption would have most likely been correct.

But Evelyn did not comprehend feelings of physical love or lust. To the human form she paid no mind, it was merely a vessel, a means to an end. Features were what separated each creature as an individual, not things that marked beauty or ugliness. The feelings she held for her dragon were at a purely mental level, and she could barely get her head around the fact that she felt such strong affection toward this mystical creature.

No, the look she gave Murtagh was not one of desire. It was, in reality, one that signified Evelyn's desperation. Normally, she detested looking at people for any measure of unbroken time – it was safer if you melted into the background – preferring to avoid contact, or, if necessary, steal short and unnoticeable glances in their direction. She had abandoned that tactic, and was staring at Murtagh as if she hoped that doing so would somehow put an end to her dissatisfaction.

Murtagh was exasperatingly perplexing. Granted, Evelyn had never had a reason to get to know anyone in the castle – there, it was every slave for him or herself. And yet Evelyn was positive that, even by normal standards, Murtagh was an abnormally mysterious person. Surely in the normal scheme of things, it wasn't this hard to determine the basic personality of a single person after one week of close proximity.

Evelyn used all of her limited knowledge to try and figure Murtagh out, and came up with nothing. Cannel was always endlessly polite and fatherly to the young man, but that didn't give any information regarding Murtagh's character – Evelyn had a nagging feeling that Cannel was like that with everyone, even people he disapproved of. Murtagh seemed to enjoy reading a great deal, but she could never see what topics most interested him, because the scrolls he chose were always in the common human language. Cannel had mentioned once that Murtagh enjoyed honey-taffy a great deal – Evelyn wasn't sure what that was, but she took his word for it.

He was often in his room, or riding along the fringes of the lake, two places that Evelyn refused to venture into. This made interactions sporadic at best, and yet somehow, whenever they were in the same vicinity, Murtagh always managed to catch her unawares.

And that was the extent of Evelyn's knowledge regarding Murtagh.

It was frustrating, and so Evelyn frowned, hating him for his mysteriousness and hating herself for the lack of expertise she held in interacting with others. Murtagh raised an eyebrow in silent question – she had been looking at him for at least two minutes without any distractions – and she noted that his brown hair was tucked behind his ears. Evelyn looked away, turning to face the horses once more. Her thick hair swung over her shoulder, and the dragon sneezed loudly when the tresses tickled its snout.

"You can't give me that kind of look, and just _turn away_. It's hardly fair," he demanded, his tone holding at least some measure of authority, and yet her mouth remained stubbornly shut. It was pointless to be silent, and yet Evelyn couldn't think of anything else to do. Her elbows rested on the sturdy railing, and she stiffened when she saw Murtagh settle himself next to her. The young man was careful to place a respectable amount of space in between them, and his eyes stared off at the three horses as they grazed. The breeze blew his hair from behind his ear, and his mouth was tense, lips pursed together.

Evelyn quickly looked straight ahead, refusing to be caught looking at him – disregarding the fact that she had stared at him just moments ago with no such qualms – and the two stood in a silence that was somehow less peaceful than the silence had been when they first met. This particular silence was full of underlying tension, and Evelyn wondered if the tension was solely within her, or if Murtagh felt it as well.

The dragon squirmed to be released, squeaking and snorting clumsily. Evelyn obliged, instinctively following her dragon with her eyes. The creature waddled over to the nearest tree, and sniffed at it, tongue flicking out with a rasping sound. It trotted around the tree several times in each direction, paws twitching in anticipation. Evelyn frowned. Was there something inside the tree? By this time, Murtagh was also watching the dragon, and the two humans waited as the creature paused, wondering what it was that had the dragon so fully absorbed.

Then, without so much as a glance in their direction, the dragon began sharpening its claws on the smooth bark, back arching and tail lazily swishing back and forth.

Evelyn rolled her eyes, feeling the dragon's deep amusement in creating such suspense, only to have it be in the name of a mundane act of cleanliness – claws that were left unsharpened were not only painful, but turned a sickly shade of yellow. Murtagh cracked a smile, and rolled a shoulder, wincing as it popped. Evelyn turned back to the horses, and Murtagh leaned his back against the fence, elbows propping him up so that he still faced the busy dragon.

"So, are you going to tell me why you're angry? Because I can't imagine what I've done to put you in that state," Murtagh pressed, his eyes serious as they searched her face. Evelyn did not answer, and she panicked when she heard Murtagh's sigh of acceptance. No, she had to speak, she couldn't be so afraid of every single thing that came out of this man's mouth!

"I don't like you," Evelyn blurted out, her brows furrowing as she avoided Murtagh's gaze. The man seemed to want to ask something, and Evelyn shook her head to cut him off. "A lot of things confuse me, but you confuse me more than anything else, and that makes me angry," she stated coldly, meeting his eyes.

Murtagh seemed a bit taken aback, but did not respond angrily, as she expected him to. He merely stared at her, and Evelyn stared right back. Then, after a few long moments, he spoke, his tone much less cordial than it had been just seconds before.

"You're confusing, too. You want to know so much about me, and yet you offer nothing about yourself," he stated tonelessly, and Evelyn felt her temper flaring at the scolding tone that resided just under the surface. She pushed off of the fence, and her fists clenched. She wanted to yell at him, she wanted to do something to show him her fury. But years of conditioning had cowed her against confrontation, and so she turned to storm off in the opposite direction.

A strong, calloused hand gripped her forearm, spinning her around. Evelyn instinctively went limp, relaxing every muscle in her body. Fighting only encouraged them, fighting only made them enjoy it more. Go numb, Evelyn said to herself, don't let them in…

And then she realized that she was not in the dungeons of Galbatorix's castle, but in the forest beside Cannel's equine pasture. Her sense of touch registered Murtagh's hand – it was not a magician – on her arm. Evelyn's eyes stared into his face, which held a shocked expression. His fingers loosened, but did not leave her skin.

Murtagh's expression softened, and his gaze lowered to his feet, "It gets better, you know. Everything gets better with time, I've found," he whispered, and Evelyn was surprised to find that she understood completely.

Her paranoia, her fear of being touched, the automatic numbness that came with physical contact, the ignorance to the outside world and its customs…it all would get better with time. Murtagh wasn't saying that it vanished completely, that would be naive to assume. He was saying that it would heal over; it would soften and change as Evelyn herself changed.

Just as scars faded from an angry red to a silvery white, so would fade the effects of her time in the castle of Galbatorix.

Evelyn ducked her head, willing her face to remain expressionless. His words touched her deeply, and the only thing she could possibly compare the feeling with was the feeling that a magician's words invoked. The magic would seep into her skin, and then the spell would perform its duty. But in this case, Murtagh's words did not hurt her. Instead, they warmed her, they pulsed along with her heartbeat.

Murtagh slowly released her arm, and she whispered, "But I can't forget what I could have…what I could have had if not for…"

Her shoulders hunched, and her arms came up to wrap around her waist, hugging herself in an attempt to gain control of the agony that bubbled up and contorted her face into a mask of impossible longing.

Murtagh did not make a sound, but something in the silence made her inclined to look up at him. She did so, and found that he was staring down at her, his eyes dark and intense.

"Fate is fickle…I know. It can take away everything we love; it can place us in the worst situation imaginable. It expects us to keep fighting, to persevere. Sometimes, salvation never comes. But if you're lucky, it chooses to give you something even greater than all of the suffering," he said quietly, and his gaze drifted toward the small dragon, who was still snuffling and eagerly clawing gouges into the tree trunk.

Evelyn stared at the creature, and let out a gasp as the stinging just behind her eyelids increased. He was right. For all of her suffering, for all of her screams and desolation…Fate had given her the power to escape, it had given her the inclination to check behind a simple cloth curtain.

It was Fate that had urged her to take the emerald dragon egg.

Evelyn's eyes met his once more, and he held her eyes for a few moments before he took a step back. Murtagh's mouth straightened into a neutral line once more, but the darkness was gone from his eyes.

"Cannel told me you were a bit tired of magic, and so I wanted to know if you wanted to go for a ride." Evelyn's mouth opened, and Murtagh went on, "Don't worry, we would stay in the forest. The dragon can stay with Cannel if it wants; he just finished cooking several strips of rabbit."

Murtagh's tone was light, and Evelyn sent the dragon several tantalizing images of fresh meat. That got the creature's attention, the green head whipping around so fast that Evelyn jerked in surprise. Green eyes were wide with hunger, and it scrambled over to Evelyn's legs, growling in longing.

Evelyn sighed, and nodded to the dragon. "You can go," she said, and the dragon crooned affectionately before sprinting off toward the house, giving loud little squeaks to alert the magician of his coming. Murtagh shook his head at the dragon's exuberance, and turned to Evelyn.

"So, is that a yes to the ride?" he asked, his hands tapping a random rhythm on the wooden post. Evelyn answered by pulling up her skirt and clambering over the fence, landing rather gracelessly on the other side. Murtagh chuckled, clearing the post with much more ease, his long legs hurrying to catch up.

As they rode, Evelyn pondered what he had said. It was true, that Fate had combated her pain with the deliverance of her dragon. The dragon was her light, was her source of love and tenderness, a source that had been all but lost.

But even so, she couldn't help but wonder if that was all Fate had given her.

Her eyes found Murtagh, his arms tensing as he weaved in between the trees, vanishing and then reappearing just as quickly.

Evelyn shook her head, forcing away her frustration at not finding an answer. "It'll get better with time," she muttered under her breath, and urged her steed faster, gripping with her knees as she weaved through the undergrowth.

It would get better. Now all Evelyn had to do was focus on moving forward. If she was patient, she would traverse the path; she would conquer herself and her own Fate.

One step at a time.

~x~X~x~

_A million-bajillion hugs to _**senses-freedom**_, who edited this chapter. 3 _


	6. Nama

The late tidings of summer drifted leisurely into the beginnings of fall, and what was once a small and comparatively harmless dragon was now a large and powerful beast. According to Cannel, a month and a half had passed since Evelyn's arrival, and after that period of time, the top of the dragon's shoulder reached Evelyn's collarbone. Thick, sharp claws and fangs came into being, sparkling white against the brilliant viridian of his scales, his eyes as large as dinner plates and filled with all possible shades of green.

The days of carrying him on Evelyn's shoulder were past; in fact, it became rather commonplace for Evelyn herself to be carried – seated on the smooth juncture between his back and the thick, corded length that was his neck. Many a sunrise was spent sitting in that very spot, watching the forest slowly rise from the night and embrace the day.

Evelyn was so caught up in the fluidness of being mentally linked to the dragon that the changes taking place blurred past almost as quickly as the days themselves. In fact, it took a few days of holding complex conversations with her dragon for Evelyn to realize that he had practically mastered coherent speech, and could manage simple phrases in the Ancient Language. It – along with the realization that Evelyn had reflexively identified the dragon as male – came as a great shock, a reaction that amused the dragon to no end.

_Even with our bond, you still managed to be taken by surprise…silly little bird_, he said, his tenor voice surprisingly gentle for such a dangerous looking creature. In fact his entire mind was gentle, so contrastingly compassionate and soft in comparison to Evelyn's hardened consciousness.

The dragon's mind was a never-ending vortex of information, and yet it was clear that he himself was only able to actively tap into a minuscule portion of that knowledge. Most of what he knew was purely instinctual, a concept that confused Evelyn to no end.

_How do you know how to fly…without even being taught?_ Evelyn asked one day as she watching him fly, and her dragon banked sharply to the left, grazing the branches in his lazy dive to the forest floor. The thin membranes of his powerful wings glowed in the sunlight, and his scales were so similarly colored to the dew-covered leaves that he almost disappeared from sight several times in his descent.

The dragon landed, shuffling his wings as he blew a bit of grass out of his nostrils. Evelyn cracked a smile at his disgruntled snorts, and the dragon slunk over to her side, curling his neck around her and butting her jaw with his snout. This was a favorite position of his, and Evelyn was too accustomed to hiding her desires to admit that it was hers as well. But luckily, her dragon didn't need words to understand her feelings, and so there was no confusion. The heat of the day radiated off of his scales, and Evelyn squinted as the jewel-like scales reflected hundreds of slivers of light up into her face, listening to his reply.

_How does your heart know to constantly beat? _

Evelyn rolled her eyes, but she understood the statement behind her dragon's words: some things are better left unexplored, for knowing the reasons and the inner workings of things more often lead to confusion than to satisfaction. Her dragon hummed in contentment at her grudging acceptance, and happily nuzzled her shoulder before disengaging himself so that Evelyn could greet Cannel, who had just exited the house and was currently walking toward the pair.

The complexity of the dragon's thought-process was so distinctly clearthat it often took his Rider by surprise. For instance, the dragon never once hesitated, whether it was speaking his opinion or lunging at an unsuspecting deer. It was such a jarring juxtaposition to Evelyn's own mind – her unconscious desire for secrecy and limitless caution in making decisions – and it made her wonder if it was normal for a dragon to so blatantly contrast its Rider. Perhaps it was to create a more balanced duo, so that extreme impulsiveness or timidity didn't cloud their judgment.

Cannel was the most well-read out of all three of the humans residing in his abode, and so Evelyn automatically looked to him whenever she needed advice concerning the perplexities of her scaled companion. Cannel tried to be helpful, but always fell short, somehow. Evelyn had a sneaking suspicion – one of the many suspicions concerning the older magician – that the man was withholding some of his expertise, but didn't want to waste time arguing and demanding answers. Evelyn had learned that it was much better to lay low and react to situations, rather than rushing in and creating something out of nothing. Being the instigator of such actions often led to pain; Evelyn knew that from personal experience.

Evelyn was only able to sit and hold conversations for so long before the need to separate herself rose inside of her chest, and so her questions often fell short of being as thorough as they should have been. Even Murtagh, someone that Evelyn found surprising bits of pleasure in interacting with, grew to be too much after an hour or so, and so she would abruptly detach herself, retreating into the solace of solitude. Well, not complete solitude. Her dragon was always there, in that corner of her consciousness that was reserved for him alone. The brightness and solidness of his presence served as a balm to Evelyn's conflicting emotions, and for it she was constantly grateful.

Being grateful was not an emotion Evelyn was familiar with. In her painful life inside of the castle, she had had little – practically nothing – to be grateful for. Being captured and forced into slavery, tortured and mocked on a daily basis, emotionally and physically scarred as the years drifted by...there was not much room for gratitude. It wasn't until her dragon hatched that she had even the slightest inclination to be grateful for anything. It wasn't until she met other human beings – ones that were somewhat separate from the horrible essence of Galbatorix's castle – that she began to understand what it was to be thankful for the actions of another.

All in all, it was very strange.

The breeze blew rather icily around Evelyn's form, and she ignored the shudders that threatened to rack her frame, her face not shifting in the slightest to show her discomfort. The dungeons had been even colder most nights, and so the wind was an oddly welcome change from the stifling atmosphere.

The young woman was currently seated under the roof that made up the stable, listening to the sounds of her mare and the other two horses – the gray warhorse was Murtagh's and the dark, good-natured gelding was Cannel's – as they munched on their grain.

Cannel was in the house, preparing some of his herbs for storing. It was a tedious process, and so he had suggested that she go and practice her magic, and she had let without much resistance. The smell of herbs wasn't a scent she found particularly pleasing, and so she was glad to escape into the clean air of the outdoors.

Murtagh was off hunting, and most likely wouldn't be back until sundown. Evelyn glanced back toward the house, and shook her head slightly in confusion. It turned out that while Cannel willingly cooked the meat Murtagh brought back, he didn't partake in any himself. The idea of refusing food – any kind of food – was such a strange concept that Evelyn didn't even have words to describe her distaste at Cannel choosing to ignore meat when it was right in front of him.

In her right hand was a smooth stone, and her eyes flickered down to its position – it rested mildly on her _gedwëy ignasia_. With bland interest, she noted how calloused her fingers were, pale against the rich duskiness of the autumn mulch. They looked so unnatural that Evelyn felt the need to hide them, and so she moved her hands out of her line of vision, whispering a familiar command in the Ancient Language. The mark on her palm glowed brightly, and the stone rose unsteadily into the air. Her eyes scanned its process without emotion, and it was a few moments later that she felt the control slip away from her. The stone lost all animation, thumping back into her hand. Evelyn felt a great wave of frustration sweep through her, and with a harsh huff she threw the stone into the undergrowth, turning away so she would not see where it fell.

_Curse magic; curse it to the deepest pits of fire that await the wicked when they die! _

Evelyn was breathing rapidly; her eyes stinging furiously as she struggled to calm her ravaged nerves. She was glad that Cannel was inside the house, safe from the image of her most recent failure in keeping the stone aloft. The old magician had been as patient as ever in their lessons, but now, Evelyn despised him for his kindness. Did he find it natural that such a source of power be beyond Evelyn's reach? Did he view her as weak? And if he did…why would he think any different? Was she so far gone that the threat of pain was the only thing that would prompt her to change her approach?

The thought was a frightening one.

All Riders mastered magic; if Galbatorix's confidence was anything to go by, it was magic that had won him his throne and his terrible influence. It was magic that had decimated the hundreds of Riders and dragons, it was magic that had destroyed Evelyn's village, and it was _magic _that had inflicted such _unspeakable _torture on Evelyn and–

_Come, little bird, _her dragon murmured, sending her a flash of his location – a few minutes east, toward the edge of the trees that separated the forest from the outside world – and her teeth ground together at the softness in his tone. But, unable to resist the gentle tenderness to his presence, Evelyn reluctantly walked to where he was. He had, like Murtagh, been hunting up until an hour or so ago, and Evelyn hoped that he had disposed of the remains of his meal. Seeing a freshly killed deer – with entrails strewn about and bones splintered by sharp fangs – always brought back images of the Ra'zac and their sharp beaks that clicked and snapped at the flesh of an old slave who had been dead only a day…

The dry nettles popped and shifted underneath her bare feet – even though Cannel had provided her with shoes, she preferred to walk without them – and her eyes scanned the trees, slightly disconcerted at the fact that they remained the same lush green even though autumn was underway. It was strange…no matter how cold it got, no matter what the weather brought, the forest remained untouched by the elements. It was an eerily timeless place; with the breeze drifted the smell of ancient things.

Finally, she reached her dragon. The creature was curled up on the earth, large eyes similarly scanning the trees. A deep humming resonated in the air, and Evelyn felt it shiver through her frame, courtesy of the dragon before her. Green jewel-eyes snapped to her form, and the humming increased in volume. Evelyn quickened her pace until she was beside his shoulder. He was large and sturdy – Cannel had explained that male dragons were thicker and more bulky than their female counterparts – and the scales of his muscular neck shifted as he moved to encircle her torso.

No words were said between them, but Evelyn was beyond words. The excruciating happiness – or was it pain? – of witnessing first-hand the dragon's love for her welled up over the boundaries of her mind, and passed to her dragon, the emotions swirling in between both of them. Evelyn let out a dry sob, and clung to her companion. The struggle of coming to terms with her own weaknesses seemed to wash away with the tide of the dragon's affection, and warm breath heated the skin of her legs as her dragon leaned his head against her back.

It was a very long time before her dragon deemed it time to speak.

_The magic will come, little bird. I believe in you. _

Evelyn nestled into the comforting strength of the dragon's neck, and he tightened his grip in response, humming in delight. Her eyes opened, and she stared at the glittering scales of her dragon, lips turning downward slightly.

_What if I don't _want_ the magic? _she dared to ask, and the dragon stiffened slightly, uncurling himself from around her frame. Evelyn reached out to keep her fingers resting on the scales, eyes widening slightly; had she offended him in some way?

Her dragon lowered its head to eye her, face just inches from her own. Her throat tightened as his eye stared unblinkingly at her, not angry or sad, just watching and waiting for some unspoken signal. He finally spoke, his voice firm.

_Look at your palm, Evelyn_.

Evelyn obeyed, and somehow she had known which hand her dragon was referring to – the one with the silvery oval adorning the palm. It glittered in the sunlight, and the dragon leaned down to touch the spot with the tip of his snout. A jolt of magic rushed through both Rider and dragon, and the oval burst into life, glowing so vibrantly that Evelyn had to avert it away from her face so that it didn't blind her. The dragon snorted in pride, and Evelyn felt the magic of her dragon clinging to her skin, coddling her with its uncontainable energy.

_Magic_, the dragon declared, glanced at the magic that was still lighting up Evelyn's mark like a lantern_, is what brought us together. If a bond such as this is able to prevail in spite of Galbatorix's evil, then I am confident that there is still hope for this world. _

Evelyn let out a shaky breath, and her dragon snorted in surprise when she snapped her face up, face alight with a fiery glow. Her palm flared with new life, life that purely Evelyn in essence. Evelyn could feel her power growing, and there was a sudden question in her dragon's eyes. The young woman eyed the dip in between the creature's neck and back, and then nodded shortly, hiking up her skirts and settling down there.

_Hold on,_ her dragon ordered, and Evelyn nodded, gripping with her knees – moving her skirt so that it was a layer between her and his scales – and throwing herself against his neck as he propelled himself upward.

Evelyn didn't know what prompted her to ride her dragon – she really should have considered if he could even bear her weight – but all thoughts were pushed aside as the wind rushed past her face and made her hair stream behind her. Her dragon's wings pushed against the strain of gravity, strong and powerful, and Evelyn forced herself to open her eyes once they were comfortably in the air.

The forest was so large that there was ample room for the dragon to fly, and he did just that, weaving in and out of the trees, letting out little growls of glee as the exhilaration overpowered everything else. Evelyn was laughing, lifting her head in order to absorb the surroundings better. The colors were whipping past in a vivid blur, and the smell of sunlight and greenery filled her nostrils. The dull pain of the scales rubbing through the thin fabric of her skirt was secondhand to the feeling of peace rising up in her chest.

Her dragon was right; magic was what made their bond possible, and magic was what was needed to keep that bond alive. Thinking of life _without _the emotional link made Evelyn physically ill, and so she avoided the thought all together.

A few minutes later, her dragon became too tired to continue, and touched back down in the same clearing they had taken off in. Evelyn almost lost her seat, not used to the awkward landing. Her dragon was panting heavily, and Evelyn leaned into his neck – avoiding his sharp spines – in order to take some of the pressure off of her inner thighs; the skin felt raw and smooth to the touch. Evelyn grimaced in pain, but the sharp sting was disregarded for the moment, because her dragon turned to grin at her, tongue lolling out as he did so.

_How do you like the name Vídarr, little one? I think it rather suits me…_

Evelyn blinked, realizing what he was suggesting, and then smiled widely, so that her cheeks began to ache almost immediately from the strain. She let out a sigh, rubbing the itchy places in between her dragon's neck spines. He crooned in contentment, and she leaned to press her cheek against his corded neck.

_It's a good name, _Evelyn assured him, and Vídarr began to hum in a tone that was nothing less than completely satisfied, slowly making his way – with Evelyn still draped over him – back to Cannel's house.

* * *

><p><em>Sorry for the long wait! Please review, and let me know what you think!<em>


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